Is it Fate, or Chance?
by SingularMonk
Summary: Of heroes forged and legends born - whether or not Thedas survives to see another age depends on them. Credits to Bioware.
1. Origins

**Origins**

Knight-Captain Greagoir watched from the opposite side of the street as his fellow Templar walked up to the door of the house and knocked. He had an equal measure of appreciation and dislike for this part of the job; while he hated to see families torn apart in this manner and even play a role in it, he was always relieved to know that this might allow them to protect the innocent better and hopefully save someone from themselves.

The unfortunate family had just recently moved to Ferelden from the Free Marches and it seemed as though they were most likely former nobility. Greagoir watched as his companion briefly spoke to the woman who had answered the door, even from here he could see that her striking blue eyes were still bloodshot and puffy from crying and her dark hair just hastily tied into a bun, wisps of it still trailing at odd angles. A man came to the door to stand close behind her, his expression seemed slightly glazed but arms gently reached out to comfort the woman. She detached herself from him and entered the house again while the Templar quietly spoke with the man.

Many of the people who walked by shot glances of pity at the unfortunate house, but there was the occasional look of disgust couples with angry muttering and people whispered to each other while eying the proceedings with suspicious eyes. Such was the stigma against those that were unfortunate enough to have something like this happen to them or their families, those unfortunate enough to receive the gift of magic.

The Knight-Captain watched all of this from his post, it was always the same. Theirs was a thankless job, to watch over the mages, yet it was necessary. Since even as the power of mages had done unimaginable much good in the world, it also had the potential to wreck unimaginable chaos. This was due to mage's innate ability to access the Fade, the incorporeal realm that was separated from this one by the Veil.

All sentient beings travel to the Fade when they dream, with the exception to dwarves, who it was hypothesised that due to their constant exposure to lyrium – magic in its purest form – had been made immune to most spiritual influences. Unlike others though, mages are capable of remaining conscious in the Fade. This coupled with their ability to control magic would often draw the unwanted attention of demons. These demons would then try to possess the mage and use them as a conduit to the real world, which would normally result in the mage becoming an insane monstrosity.

Greagoir had encountered several of these so called 'abominations' as a Templar and it had been a harrowing experience each time; the bodies of the former mages normally bloating up into gruesome creatures of frightening strength and magical prowess. This was why the Circle of Magi had been formed under the oversight of the Chantry; so that mages could have the opportunity to learn to master themselves and if that should fail, that there were those trained in the art of bringing down a magical foe, namely the Templars, at hand - should the need arise.

The Templar's thoughts returned back to the task at hand when he saw the woman re-appear in the doorway, this time steering a young girl by the shoulders. The girl had a striking resemblance to her mother and Greagoir could already tell that one day she would test the vows of many an initiate. She was holding pack to her chest, arms clinging to it as if it were all the security she had left in the world. The woman leaned down to hug her daughter on last time, whispering something to her before she nodded to Greagoir's companion. The Templar nodded, and used one gauntleted hand to steer the girl from the doorway, gently guiding her to her new future.

The Knight-Captain took one last glance at the couple before walking out into the road to join the other two. Now to journey to Lake Calenhad and the Tower, it would take several days, but he had planned for them to join a trading caravan for most of the trip, so that it would hopefully be shorter and safer than usual.

~o~

Elisa Cousland looked out over the parade grounds of castle Highever from the window of her room. Down below in the dust, her twin brother was sparring with one of the squires, their wooden practice swords clanking off each other's weapons, shields and occasionally armour. If one had stood the two of them next to one another you'd easily have seen the resemblance, both of them having golden blonde hair and striking blue eyes; when they had been younger they had even sometimes pretended to be each other to play pranks on their tutors and the castle staff. But that was no longer possible as Elisa grew to look more and more like her mother and Erik like his father.

She sighed, wishing that their mother would return, so that she could also resume her training. Their mother had been visiting one of the local Bann's wives for the past week and Elisa was growing restless. Since while she had to continue all her lessons concerning matters of court and other things a noble's daughter would need to know, her lessons in martial arts had been suspended for the duration of her mother's absence.

She was never allowed to join the boys, since that was considered 'unlady-like' and her mother was the only one proficient in the art of combat that she was being taught; one that relied more on subtlety and speed opposed to brute force, since few women would be able to stand on par with men in that department. Elisa sighed and tried to return to reading the book she had taken from her grandfather's study, but her attention was drawn again to the window when she heard the boys below burst into laughter.

Erik was sitting back on the floor, the squire, that Gilmore boy with that fiery hair standing over him, offering his hand. The young Cousland gripped it and was pulled back to his feet, still laughing. "My lord is as benevolent as ever," Gilmore said bowing mockingly before the young noble. "Ever willing to grace the ground with his arse's presence."

"Careful there Gilmore, I might just grace _your_ arse with the presence of my foot." Erik said, still chuckling.

"My lord's generosity humbles me."

Both boys looked up when they heard a giggle. Elisa was leaning out of the window, "Whatever will Nan say if she knew the language you two were using in the presence of a lady?" Her clear voice rang down.

The squire's face turned red in embarrassment as he fiddled with the hilt on his practice sword, Erik on the other hand looked around nonchalantly. "What lady? …Oww!"

Gilmore burst out laughing again as a book from above landed on his companion's head.

~o~

Leandra looked over to the table where Sorana and Malcolm were sitting; her daughter was fiddling with some trinket the stern man had given her while he was penning another of his letters. Carver – the youngest - was sitting on the floor playing with some carved animals. She was about to turn back to her cooking with a content smile when the trinket Sorana was playing with lit up with a dull red glow. The girl gasped, dropping it to the table.

Malcolm looked up from his letter, "Aha, that went faster than I had expected - well done girl."

He pointed a finger at the trinket and a small spark of electricity jumped from him to it and it stopped glowing. "Let's see if you can do it again, quicker this time."

It was a curious-looking item, a sphere of what seemed to be Jet or Onyx that was clamped by golden spines. The bottom of it had a small section protruding which looked like it was supposed to slot into something. Sorana was carefully tracing her fingers along the spines again; trying to recall what exactly it was that she had done that had caused the item to light up.

Leandra looked at this exchange, her face set in an expression of mild annoyance. "Dear, you know I don't like it when you do magic in the house."

Her husband grinned at her mischievously, "But it was hardly more than a static shock!" He responded with feigned indignance.

"Yes, well… now that you have Sorana to deal with as well I think we should set up more formal rules about it. Firstly because while I know _you_ can keep the casting to a minimum we don't know how long it will be before she is in complete control of it…"

"Ah, don't worry so much about it love. She's a natural, besides we're far enough from town so as not have to worry about people peeking in through the shutters and ratting to the Templars."

Not quite satisfied with his answer she looked at the subject of their discussion again, concern written plainly across her face, before returning to preparing their evening meal. She prayed that the child she was expecting would not have to deal with the same challenges their eldest would inevitably have to face.

Young Carver had dropped his toys when the trinket had first started glowing, enamoured by the lights. Malcolm ruffled the boy's hair good naturedly as he tried to peek over the edge of the table to see, "let's hope you'll never have to deal with that thing lad." He said, voice suddenly distant.


	2. Potential

**Potential**

Solona Amell walked through the halls of the tower; she had been here for years and still felt like an outsider. Maybe it will be better once she finished her apprenticeship she often thought to herself, but nobody knew when that would happen. Nobody was ever forewarned of their Harrowing – the trial every mage had to pass to be fully accepted into the Circle of Magi.

The stories of what one had to do during your harrowing were rampant among the apprentices; some said you had to fight other apprentices, others said you had to fight a Templar or a senior mage and there were some that said you had to fight monsters, abominations, demons; by now Solona would not be surprised if the harrowing required you to dance naked under the moonlight like the wilder witches were said to do.

She walked into the girls' dormitory and headed over to her bed. The room was one massive section near the base of the circular tower where all the female residents of the Circle stayed until they passed their harrowing. There were rows and rows of bunk beds under the high arched roof, each apprentice had a cupboard in which to store what few personal effects they were allowed to keep, but other than that there was little privacy, not to mention the routine Templar inspections to make sure that there were no dangerous magical artefacts outside the controlled environments.

Solona heard that the Templars themselves lived very spartan lives, but at least they had the opportunity to _choose_ to do so or not, mages were afforded no such luxury. Torn away from their families as soon as their potential was discovered or the Templars caught up with them – and they were deemed safe to be allowed to study in the Circle – mages were practically prisoners, in a very gilded cage yes, but prisoners nonetheless.

The young girl thought back to when she had been taken by the Templars and the last time she had seen her parents. They had lived in Ameranthine only a short time before her so called gift manifested itself; before that she had vague memories of a large city that seemed to be carved out of the mountains that surrounded it. Of her parents themselves she remembered less and less each year, except her mother's face. She would never forget that, the sapphire blue eyes, raven-coloured hair and warm smile and the single tear ran down her face as she told her that everything would be fine as the Templars took her. Her father only left an impression of being the large, stern protecting shadow in the background.

She sometimes envied the ones that only came to the Circle later in their lives, they had at least experienced something of the life that the outside world offered, but they had also sacrificed more, they would ever resent this place more than she did. But even they managed to form relationships with the other apprentices, she on the other hand never could. She could feel the eyes of the others following her whenever she entered a room, heard the buzzing whispering.

"That's _her._"

"The one who killed all those people?"

"Yes, they say the only one to survive was the Knight-Commander himself."

"The Knight-Commander had to be sent to bring her in?!"

"They say she killed over a dozen people!"

"Yeah, and half of them could not be recognised afterwards."

"I'm happy I'm not in any of _her_ classes."

"I do Ancient Cultures in the same group as her; she has to stay right in the back where the Templar overseer is."

"Why did they even let her into the Circle?!"

"She should be made Tranquil."

"I bet she practices blood magic."

"I hear she needs special lessons to make sure she doesn't get possessed."

"No way!"

"It's true; I've seen the Templars escort her out of the dormitories after hours."

"I'm happy my bunk is on the _other _side of the room."

Either the gossipers were never aware of how far sound actually carried in the Circle's cavernous halls, or they did not care. But the end result was always the same; no one would associate with her. Even the Templars who were aloof to begin with let her feel that she was under a particular close scrutiny and in the end maybe they were all justified in their fears, since the event that started them did take place. How the rumours had made it here she didn't know, since only she and the Knight-Commander had been there to experience what had happened and he did not seem the type to spread such things, as befitting of his rank, all she knew is that they chased away all potential friends before she had a chance to try and make them.

"Hey Sol, you there?!"

Well, maybe not _all_, Solona thought to herself bemused. "Yeah, I'll be right there, lemme just get my boots on."

Once she had finished tying up the laces of her boots she headed out of the dormitory to see another apprentice leaning against the wall of the hallway. "Why you always insist on wearing those things when we head outside I'll never know."

"Hello to you too Jowan." She said, poking him in the ribs as she walked past.

"Hey, hey! Don't do that!" he ran to catch up to her, "and could you walk a little slower, you'd think you were one of the Templars the way you march about."

Jowan was the picture of mage stereotype: tall, skinny, neck-length black hair and had a slightly nasally voice that if you listen to for too long would annoy you no-end. But he was willing to associate with Solona, so she put up with it and behind it all he seemed like a decent guy.

"I've told you before, we live in _Ferelden_; you can only wear those Orleisian-style things indoors. Outside though, the mud will make short work of them!"

"And here I thought girls were supposed to be all for pretty Orleisian things."

Solona decided not to respond to that, they were almost outside. They were allowed to go outside during breaks between lessons and she was sure going to make use of that. Living inside all the time like some dwarf in its underground city was not to her tastes.

~o~

Erik tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes with his gauntleted hand, panting slightly. He barely had an opportunity to brace himself, when his opponent flung herself at him again. They whirled around one another in a deadly dance. Or at least it would have been deadly had they not been using blunted weapons.

He was wearing a full splint-mail armour and wielding a sword and shield. His opponent was dressed in tight-fitting leather armour and wielding two daggers. She had speed and manoeuvrability, but he had power and reach. They circled each other wearily, their fight having thrown dust from the floor of the parade grounds into clouds that stuck to their sweating bodies. The squires in charge of cleaning armours would have a full afternoon today, he thought.

His opponent, noticing even this smallest of distractions, lashed out; she flowed forwards, blade in her right swinging at him from below. Erik moved his shield to block it, but then it wasn't there anymore. The other dagger caught on his sword and it seemed as though his opponent almost used it to swing around him. Suddenly she was behind him, pressed against his back, one dagger held to his throat, the other at his gut.

He groaned and dropped his sword and shield on the ground in submission.

His opponent giggled, and twirled around him, sheathing her daggers as she went. "Beat you again, brother!"

Elisa took off the leather cap that protected her head and tossed it onto his shield. Erik also took off his helmet and dropped it to the floor. "Well as long as it's only you and not Gilmore anymore."

"Hey!" The ginger-haired squire was standing on the side of the area they had been practicing in.

Elisa merely laughed again and hugged her brother. She detached herself from him and - dropping her dagger harness - ran off towards the door leading out of the courtyard. "As the victor I claim first bathing rights!"

"Oi, that's not fair! You take far too long!" Erik shouted after her.

He barely heard her response, "Victor!"

The losing twin sighed and leaned down to pick up the dropped gear. The squire that had been watching them sidled over, "Well I suppose this proves it. Your Sister will probably be the best fighter in Highever by the time she comes of age."

"Yeah, mother taught her all those sneaky rogue tricks. No way a clunky knight can beat either of them… but I plan to keep practicing until I can at least hold my own against her, you never know when that might prove useful. Now help me carry these things!"

Gilmore moved in to pick up Elisa's dropped gear and the two boys headed towards the castle armoury. Just as they rounded a corner they heard the rapid staccato of a dog's claws on the cobbled floor. "Oh no," Erik groaned.

Then he was thrown to the floor as a young Mabari hound landed on him, "Alright, alright, I get it, stoooop! Gilmore save me!"

The squire had to laugh as he watched the young noble's antics at his dog's affections. Alfonse, the mabari had imprinted itself on Erik the previous year when the newest litters were born in the castle kennel. Mabari were a species of dogs that had an uncanny intellect due to a mage's breeding several ages ago. They were highly prized in Ferelden, it was said to have a pure-bred mabari imprint itself on you was the highest honour, a sign of true nobility of character.

Erik finally managed to push the hound off him, and wiped his arm with his sleeve. "That's what I get for forgetting to get you your treat today I suppose he said grinning."

Alfonse barked happily.

"Okay, just let me pack away these weapons and we'll see if Nan has anything for you." Eric responded, scratching the hound between the ears affectionately. "Just try not to make a habit of that… jumping thing; soon you'll be big enough to squash me if you do it!"

Alfonse whined in response to this, but trotted – seemingly content – after the two boys, as soon as Erik had picked up his weapons again, occasionally interjecting a conversational bark to the discussion the two were having while they headed towards the armoury.

~o~

Sorana looked at her father's back again as she followed him along the animal trail into the forest. Bethany was sitting on his shoulders as he wandered and Carver was following behind, if maybe at a bit of a distance, getting distracted by all the insects making their home in the underbrush and loam.

This had become a daily routine for them; Mother stayed at home to prepare supper and they would then head off into the wilderness until they reached a small clearing. Here Malcolm would train Sorana in the arcane arts as her younger siblings played off to the side. Some days he would train her to cast spells outright, other days it would be simple meditations and self-control exercises. He had also begun to teach Carver the basics of martial arts and Sorana took it upon herself to partake in these lessons, not only so support her brother and father, but because even at her tender age she knew that it was the prudent thing to do – to know how to fight without magic.

The afternoon sun was pleasantly warm and birds chirped in the leafy foliage as they trained. Malcolm had carved a simple staff from one of the trees and presented it to his eldest, he had cut one for himself and began to show her the motions used to cast and other routines that could be used for close combat should the need arise. This carried on for several hours until the sun was starting to set and he motioned that it was best that they head back before dark; that was when they noticed that Carver was missing.

"Rana, please take your sister back home." Malcolm said curtly, scanning the treeline for any traces of his son.

The girl nodded, picking up on her father's body language - now was not the time to second-guess him. It was the same stance he took whenever they heard that Templars were nearby, or actively looking for them.

Bethany, oblivious to the circumstances asked loudly: "But what about Carver?"

Sorana gently hushed her as she lifted her youngest sibling onto her back, "Carver will come back with father, they will come home a bit later."

"But I want to go home with da!"

"Not now Beth, father can take you next time." Sorona said as she started off into the forest at a brisk walk.

As she walked along the animal trail she kept a careful eye out for any traces of her brother, but by the time they reached the eaves of the woods she still hadn't found a trace of him. She walked over to the house and opened the door, depositing Bethany inside. "Now, be a good girl and help mom with supper. I'll be right back with father and Carver."

Closing the door she turned and ran back into the forest, the speedily descending sun enlarging its shadows with every passing moment. She found the animal trail again and followed it back to the clearing. Malcolm was no longer there.


	3. Growth

**Growth**

She strained against the fatigue that weighed down on her whole body, silently praying that she could maintain control over the spell as flames danced mere inches from her skin, cocooning her in a second skin. This particular form of magic did not have much application outside testing strength of will and stamina, but the concentration it demanded to force flames to form this close to her body without having them cook her alive and at the same time keep them confined within several inches of where they originated without having them flare outward was monumental. Beads of sweat ran into her eyes, her hair was clinging together and to her face; her robes were soaked from the exertion.

Finally, after what seemed another eternity the First Enchanter nodded. Solona released the spell and panting heavily, fell to her knees, weary arms barely managing to stop her from falling all the way. The flames themselves had flared up briefly and then dissipated into nothing; they did not even leave traces of smoke.

The room they were in was near the top of the tower, where, due to it getting thinner, there was no space to have as many chambers next to one another as there were on the lower floors. This meant that the rooms were ideal for the practicing of magic and the more hazardous of experiments, since there were minimal adjoining rooms that could be affected if something went wrong. Concerns for the main structure of the tower were negligible, since the ancient magics and engineering techniques that had been used in its construction made it nearly impervious.

Solona wondered about the tower's origins - not for the first time – as she lay there panting, the cold, smooth stone pressing against her hands and knees. She had been training here under the tutelage of First Enchanter Irving since the first few weeks of her arrival at the tower years ago, always under the close scrutiny of several Templars. But hers was not a common lot, Knight-Commander Greagoir had specifically asked for it as soon as they had made it to the tower, in response to what had transpired during their journey here; the events that had wiped out a whole caravan and killed the other Templar escorting her here.

He had not been Knight-Commander yet at that point, but the two had ever had an understanding of sorts and their mild temperaments made it somewhat easier to liaise between watchers and watched. When the lyrium Templars imbibed to grant them the powers they needed to watch over mages began to take its toll on the prior Knight-Commander's mind, the Grand Cleric had promptly appointed Greagoir to the role.

"By the Maker, Solona! I still cannot grasp how you manage to do it, even after all these years." Irving exclaimed as he walked over to her hunched form. The First Enchanter was an elderly man with long grey hair and a thick beard that hid most of his face, but did not quite manage to hide the gauntness of his cheeks, or the dark rings around his eyes; the eyes themselves though sparkled with keen intellect. He wore robes that were a fresh green with tasteful white accenting and had a great deal of golden embroidery. "Your spells seem to have an unbelievably high natural power threshold but you still manage to maintain them for unbelievably long periods considering that drain and with astounding control."

The apprentice finally managed to gather the strength to try and stand, she wearily pushed herself to her feet, making for a table and chair that were standing against a wall. Once she successfully shuffled to the chair she gratefully dropped into it, resting her head against the cold wall, closing her eyes and waiting for the throbbing to recede. Once she could open her eyes and not think that the dim light in the room would stab right through them into the back of her head, she looked around. Irving had sat down on the other side of the small table and she gratefully noted the cup of water he had poured her from the decanter that had been set aside here for such occasions. Grabbing it she gulped down the contents, the slight trembling of her body that had started settled down as the wet coolness seemed to flow down her throat and infuse her.

After downing another two of these, Solona decided that it was worth trying to risk speaking. "I _wish_ I didn't have all that power… I mean I'll be cooped up in this place my whole life anyway, why make the reason such a bitch to control."

She placed the cup onto the tray with the decanter again, "If I had my way, I'd be happy with a puny smidgeon of power so I can live the easy, lazy mage life."

Irving chuckled good-naturedly, "believe me, my girl. If anyone here had their way I doubt we'd have any mages to begin with."

The dark-haired apprentice looked out onto space contemplative, "I suppose. But then again, a world without magic would be so _boring_!"

"Even the ordinary has its own magic if you know where to look."

"I suppose…"

After a short silence Solona spoke up again, "First Enchanter?"

"Yes?"

"Robes suck."

~o~

"Erik, you take your men and circle around from the left. Eliza, you go with him." The Teyrn said to them, the tone of his voice clipped. He was loath to send them to battle, but they were his children and the welfare of the land would be in their hands once he was gone. Best they learn now while he was still around to teach, than have them stumble around and learn from their own mistakes once the responsibility was theirs.

Erik and his sister clapped their right fists to their chest in salute. This would be the younger male Cousland's first command and he hoped to make his father proud. Their army was split into three, the main force led by their father, the rest was split into two forces, each commanded by one of the younger Couslands: Fergus and Erik.

The soldiers commanded by their father were the most trained and experienced, with most of the knights fighting with him as well. Fergus led the archers and scouts, the soldiers that would blend into the battlefield and harass the enemy. Erik was to lead the auxiliary troops, those that had been conscripted from the commoners and had the least experience when it came to war; as such theirs was not a duty that would require a great deal of skill, but their numbers were required so that the others would not be overwhelmed. Gilmore accompanied the twins as Erik's squire and to lend another experienced arm to the battle on their side.

After the battle plan had been laid out Erik and Elisa headed out of their father's pavilion. "So much for sleep," the young man muttered. Elisa punched his armoured shoulder, the clapping together of metals making it seem to have been harder than it actually was.

"Don't be like that," she was grinning broadly. "If you have any real issues getting sleep I'll just ask Alfie to breath in your face until you pass out!"

"Maker, no! Anything but that"

The two headed to where their tents were pitched and after conferring with Gilmore about the morning's plans headed off to get some rest.

The following morning was greeted by a camp that was already bustling with activity. The distant horizon was glowing with the promise of a rising sun and a clear day. Erik groaned and pushed his blanket aside, swinging his legs over the side of the cot so he could sit up. He was busy rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his sister burst into the small space. "_Gooood mooorning,_ Commander!"

The only response she got was an old tunic in the face, "urghmph!"

Pulling the garment from her face she scrunched her face, "I swear that you and that dog are becoming more and more alike in not only mannerisms, but also scent."

Alfonse who had been sleeping on the floor next to the cot whined in protest.

Elisa was already dressed for battle, wearing a light set of armour that consisted mostly of leather and chain mail. Her long blond hair had been tied up into a low bun so that it would not get in the way and she could still put on a helmet.

Erik was donning his own as fast he could, it would not do to be late on his first day in a position of command. After a while of trying to fix some of the more obscurely located straps Elisa sighed heavily and slapped his hands away fixing them herself. "Thanks Lisa, now let's go see where this squire whose job you're doing is."

They both exited the tent and almost ran into Gilmore who was carrying a plate of food. "Ah there you are! You should thank my sister here for helping me dress; otherwise I'd still be running around pantless." Erik said as he finished buckling on his sword belt.

The red-headed squire chuckled, "my lord, that was my intention. Best way to lift morale is to see one commander in a state of undress they say."

"Yes, yes… but we can't have the soldiers not follow an order for rolling on the floor in laughter!"

Erik grabbed a loaf of bread and the tankard of water from the tray Gilmore had been carrying and started making his way to the section of the camp where his troops were located. The banter between lord and squire continued like that for most of the journey, Elisa silently followed after them with a bemused expression on her face. She would soak in these moments while she could, for soon they would be in battle and being no fool she knew that there would be little cause for levity at the end of the day.

~o~

Quarterstaff clapped against practice sword, the smoothed wood weapons pushing hard against one another. Then as fast as they came together they flew apart again and clashed again, the quick rapport of the contacts ringing through the clearing; on the edge of it stood a man slightly past his prime and a young girl. She had the same dark hair as him, but his had shocks of grey on the side already, belying the youth that seemed to dance in his golden eyes. The girl on the other hand had the same sapphire eyes as her two siblings sparring in the clearing.

"Alright, that's enough you two." Malcolm barked.

Sorana and Carver who were once again locked together relaxed at their father's command. They both staggered to the other two's side and collapsed on the fresh green grass, panting from their exertions. After her breathing had calmed Sorana reached for one of the waterskins they had brought along and took a long draught from it, she splashed some onto her face and passed the rest to her brother who did pretty much the same.

"Carver, you need to work on your footing, make sure that you are able to shift your position at any point, but still be stable enough to make a stand if needed." Malcolm said, looking down at the lanky boy. "Make sure you take into account what weapon your opponent is using, whether it be another blade, two, and axe, mace, or a staff. Every one of them requires a different approach for you to come out the victor."

He turned to address his eldest, "Rana, you are using a staff, don't use it the same way your brother uses the sword. You do not have the physical strength to make the most of it, nor to recover quickly enough if you make a mistake. Remember that when wielding a pole you have two sides from which to attack, you might even weaponise them at some point if you feel the need to do so."

But then, belying the stern tone of his lecture he stooped down gently and ruffled both their hair, "details aside, you've both progressed marvellously."

It had been some years since the night where Carver had gone missing, a harrowing experience for the close-knit family. But they had come out the stronger for it. Malcolm had decided that it was time for Carver to learn how to defend himself and Sorana had taken to her training with a renewed vigour and conviction.

Having found the clearing empty after delivering Bethany home that evening she had ventured into the forest herself to try and find either of the male Hawkes. She was eventually the one who had stumbled onto Carver and the trouble he had managed to find himself in. Her reaction to that situation had been what caused the blood-red mark across her nose and alerted her father to their presence.

It was an experience that had coloured most of their actions since then and would no doubt continue to do so. As Carver got older he tried to continue to prove that he no longer needed his sister's protection, while Sorana worked that much harder to protect those she held dear. These opposing desires were often the cause of tension in the household.

Bethany who had not been there during those pivotal events simply idolised her elder sister, who like her was born with magical potential. Bethany had only recently started studying its use though, while despite her young age Sorana had already mastered most of its aspects, this led to Malcolm spending most of his time now teaching Bethany, while Sorana practiced magic on her own, or trained with her brother.

"Beth, your turn; let's see if you remember what we went through last time." The Hawke patriarch stated as he headed to the centre of the clearing, youngest hurrying to keep up with his long strides.


	4. Glimpse

**Glimpse**

Scandalous is what it was, the very idea that a child of house Trevelyan was a mage, the most loveable of them all to boot. But they had tried to cover it up very nicely, yes they did. The child had almost reached her tenth nameday when the potential manifested itself and what else could the family do but call for the Templars?

They came at night, when the estate was at its quietest. Five Templars entered the courtyard and after one had disappeared into the main building for a while he emerged again with the child in tow. Whilst all the Templars were adorned in their standard-issue armour that made each one of them look exactly like the last, the child was wearing simple but well-made traveling clothes. What was also something that set her apart from others and not only the cookie-cutter Templars - was her deep red hair.

Hers was not the normal flaming colour found among red-heads; instead it was a deep red, as if tinted by wine. She wore it relatively short for a girl her age, simply brushing the shoulder-length strands behind her ears. Her eyes were a striking emerald green that stood in stark contrast to her pale skin and rich hair.

And without any further ceremony, the Templars gathered together again, with the child in the middle of the group and they set off; leaving the estate behind and the young Trevelyan's life as she had known it, forever.

~o~

"Hey, Sol! You free?" Jowan shouted as he tried to catch up to his fellow apprentice as she walked through the circular halls of the tower.

The raven-haired girl turned to watch her friend as she stopped, waiting for him to catch up. "Mmm, I suppose. I was planning to get some reading done before my next lecture, but it can wait."

Jowan grinned at her, finally having caught up. "Great, I wanted to ask if you could help me practice some spells."

"And here I thought you wanted to regale me with more stories of this fabled ***."

"Ah, _come on!_ I tell you she's real!"

"Yeah, yeah - you keep telling yourself that."

She continued to tease him in this manner until they reached the upper levels of the tower in which they could practice magic. They were now among the older apprentices and no longer needed Templar supervision in everything they did. Solona had been traveling to this area of the tower since her arrival at the Circle of Magi, due to the nature of her arrival. Jowan on the other hand had only been given permission several months back, the relatively empty halls with only the occasional very pre-occupied enchanter hurrying past them still intimidated him somewhat.

Solona made a beeline to the room she had always used to practice. She felt that it was more familiar to her than even the small area she had been designated in the dormitory. She pulled out a key and unlocked the heavy door, it was one of the few of its kind – it emitted a strong spell-silencing aura that would render anything but the most mundane methods of unlocking, or breaking it futile.

"Whoah!" Jowan exclaimed, "you have access to one of the high-level rooms?!"

"Yes," she said grinning at him, "When some of us sneak off at night it's not for some tryst in the chantry."

"I _knew_ it! So the rumours about you are true. There's no way someone can be as good as you with just regular classes and… and I've never even seen you take those to begin with."

She looked at him; the topic was heading in a direction she best wanted to avoid. "Well, you said you wanted me to help you practice. Let's get started, or I'll never get to my reading."

~o~

Elisa looked around her room to find the gown her mother had said she would be wearing lying on her bed. The young Cousland was loath to shed her armour; she preferred it far more than the gaudy attire she was expected to wear for these formal occasions. But, sacrifices had to be made.

That evening, after a bath to clean off the day's dust and sweat she emerged from her room, ready to face what was sure to be a challenging evening. Her twin was already standing in the hall outside their rooms, seemingly waiting for her. She envied him and would much prefer wearing the tights and doublet that men wore than these frivolous things that women were expected to wear. He was wearing black, with golden embroidery. She was wearing a deep blue. Both outfits complimented their features, contrasting well with their golden hair and matching their blue eyes.

He grinned at her as he saw her emerge from her room, "ready to face the music?"

"You're only waiting for me so you don't have to go too soon yourself."

"Ah, my master plan is foiled."

They wandered down through the corridors of the castle, making their way to the great hall. Servants were bustling everywhere, running from the guest lodgings to prepare the rooms of those that were staying the night and running between the kitchen, the great hall and the store rooms and larders to prepare the evening banquet.

They were met partway with their life-time companion and friend. Gilmore was dressed in a light blue that accented his flaming hair tastefully; it had been a gift for him for his long and loyal service to the family by the Teyrna.

"Hey Gil, is our mother tired of our stalling to finally send you?" Elisa asked.

"No, m'lady. I was merely tiring of Ser Perth's religious talk, fetching the Teyrn's children seemed to be the best reason to quickly escape his company."

"Ser Perth, Ser Perth… Hmm, I don't believe I'm familiar with him." Erik said as they continued towards the hall together.

Gilmore nodded, "It's the first time he's here, part of Arl Eamon's retinue. Might I be so bold as to say that you both look dashing and ravishing, respectively."

"My thanks, but you'll have to give most of the credit to our mother." Elisa said, eying the back of her dress as she swished it around by the skirts.

"Indeed, my sister would still be wearing her armour if she had any say in the matter." Erik said nudging her in the ribs with his elbow.

She responded by pushing him into a suit of armour that was lining the hallway, which the collapsed onto him, sending him to the floor. "Heeey! No fair!"

She grinned looking back at him as he tried to untangle himself from the plate-mail. "Since when do I _ever_ play fair?"

Gilmore, ever the squire hurried to help the male twin get up and pack the collapsed suit of armour out of the way, while Elisa almost skipped to the main hall. Hopefully she would not need to sit with the other noble women who only ever seemed to talk about prospective husbands and what the latest trends in Orlais were.

~o~

It had taken them a while, but they were now used to living in Lothering. The family had moved here after they got hints that the Templars might be looking for apostates. Malcolm had always taken precautions and he doubted that it was them that were being hunted, but on the off-chance that a poacher or woodsman might have seen them training he had decided to move them anyway. Better to be safe than sorry, after all.

He had deemed that they no longer needed to practice the casting of spells. Bethany had mastered it a short while before they had moved. Now whatever arcane arts they practiced were purely theoretical, which afforded them far better anonymity. Sorana and Carver still sparred on a daily basis to stay in shape and Bethany occasionally also took part, but to outsiders they just seemed like an – if not ordinary – normal family.

Their father worked as a scholar and scribe. He also occasionally worked with the town's chantry to decipher some of the older texts that were brought in by the odd adventurer or merchant, but these moments were rare as the documents were often counterfeit. Sorana and Carver began to offer their services as guards for caravans and merchants, sometimes they would be asked to kill off wildlife or pests in the area. It was not very reputable work, but it allowed them to see more of the world and put the skills they had honed from a young age to good use.

Bethany spent most of her time at home, helping their mother take care of the household and the small garden they nurtured. This was precisely what she was doing when she stumbled upon her sister sitting among the firewood behind their house with a staff clutched in her hands, which she seemed to be inspecting closely.

"Rana!" Bethany exclaimed, running to her older sibling and embracing her tightly.

"Hello sister… gak! Okay, Okay! You can let go now!"

"Why didn't you say you were home?!" The youngest Hawke asked petulantly.

"It… didn't feel right; I needed some time to think."

"Why, what happened? Is Carver all right?" Bethany asked, suddenly concerned.

"Yes, yes… just being a prick as usual."

"Then what's the matter?"

"It's nothing… I was just thinking back to _that_ day."

"Oh," the answer didn't seem to entirely satisfy Bethany, but she knew better than to pry further. But ever and optimist she tried to change the topic to something brighter, "so, what are you doing with that staff? It doesn't look to be made of any wood I've seen before."

"It's heartwood, I think it's related to that ironbark that the Dalish make most of their armour and weapons from."

Dalish elves were those that refused to let themselves be subjugated like most of their race had been and clung to their ancient culture and traditions. They were not quite rebels, but the nomadic tribes were rarely welcome in human lands. It was said that the Dalish welcomed magic and thus had to be careful around Templars as well, although after the Exalted March against the Dales, the Chantry rarely bothered with them.

"Whoa, isn't that stuff super-rare?" Bethany exclaimed and touched the staff in wonder, which Sorana handed over to her fellow mage to inspect. It was heavy, heavier than it looked, but not so heavy so as to make it unwieldy.

"Mhm, I was lucky. Got attacked by one of those tree-men while traveling with that last caravan; I even had to use magic to bring it down in the end. But I was careful enough and the others thought it was the tree's own magic."

The younger girl looked at the staff with even greater reverence. "It feels… alive."

Sorana grinned at her, "You should have seen the tree. That aura was pouring out of its every pore, or whatever it is that trees have. This bit seemed to make up the spine and since I made the kill I claimed it. The others were quick to grab souvenirs of their own; the one merchant even had me load the head onto his cart, paid quite the pretty sum for it."

Bethany handed the staff back. Sorana took it and propped it against the back wall of the house. "I think I'll use the money the head brought to have it looked at by a smith in Denerim next time I'm there; bound to be one who knows how to work the stuff."

"While you're at it, you might want to look up some tailors too." Bethany teased, "It's no wonder Carver can't stand listening to you when you look like a tattered curtain."

"As you wish, dearest sister; next time you see me I shall be adorned in the finest Orlesian silks." Sorana said with a mocking curtsey.

"Maker forbid, someone might mistake you for a mage then!"


	5. Change I

**Change I**

Samantha Trevelyan still could not quite come to terms with it; all her life she had lived as a noble and as a third child it was expected that she join the Chantry. That was usually how noble families did it: the heir, the soldier, the cleric. She had been destined to serve the Maker since birth, but fortunately for her, her parents had been very good at hiding it.

All three Trevelyan children had gone through the same process of martial, political, and social education. While the discovery of her potential had broken it off abruptly, she was still far more prepared for the world than most her age. But now Samantha was in the Circle and while she had studied some of the basic lore around magic, she was hardly ready to deal with it on such a… personal level.

At least it had manifested in a controllable way. She had heard of people dying, or massive damage caused when someone discovered their magic. In her case she had been alone in her room, seething after a fight with her mother; when she looked back at the moment it had been a truly trivial thing to get so worked up about, but it was too late now.

She had slammed the door closed and sat down at her table, in her anger all movements were filled with rage, she almost knocked over the chair by pulling it out too roughly and kicked the table-leg when sitting down; the pain only flared her anger and she threw herself onto her bed, giving up on the desk. She had screamed into her pillow and punched the mattress to vent.

It had taken a while, but she eventually managed to regain a semblance of composure. When she sat up from having her face buried – face tear stained and hair dishevelled, she saw that where she had been hitting the mattress, the thin feather mattress had been scorched through and the hay one underneath was still smouldering.

She had then looked at her hands, still clenched into fists. They had been visibly radiating heat, making the air around them ripple and swim. She looked at them – dumbfounded and then the realization crashed down on her: _magic_. Samantha Augustine Trevelyan was a mage.

She did what any girl her age would have done: she ran to her mother, previous grievance forgotten. She had dismissed it at first, thinking it was some wild idea to try and get back at her. Samantha had simply collapsed on the floor at this, weeping. This seemed to soften her mother and she took her to her chambers, where the ruined bedclothes were.

That was how the family was dealt a terrible blow, both internally and externally. Since despite the constant bickering they loved each other dearly; the parents lost a daughter and the elder siblings their sister. Politically it was never safe for a noble family to reveal that they had magic in their line, unless they were of the Tevinter Imperium, as opponents might use the information to undermine them.

That was how it came to be that she was whisked away under the cover of night, and the pretence was made that she was to join the chantry as always intended albeit in a distant country, opposed to the local one as it had originally been planned. Now she was in the Circle and of the Circle. Here her noble heritage meant nothing; the Templars would cut down a royal abomination as soon they would a peasant.

Here her only advantage was her prior education making the initial studies far easier. But when it came to knowledge concerning magic's history and it's use she was as green as all the other apprentices that were brought in. Samantha chuckled to herself quietly as she thought about the events that got her here 'modest in temper, bold in deed'. She had utterly failed to live up to the family motto and for it, was branded with what some would call a curse.

She swore to herself then that she would never let her anger get the better of her. She would be a true Trevelyan, despite no longer being able to lay claim to land or title; she would prove that she was proud of her heritage despite how her very nature seemed to mock it.

~o~

Solona looked around her, so this was the Fade? The time for her Harrowing had finally come; the events all those years ago and the specialised training she had undergone had made it take place far sooner than it normally would have, the Templars' demands had finally won out. They claimed it was too dangerous to keep a mage like her about without having undergone the Harrowing and they could be right for all she knew. Not that she thought that she would spontaneously turn into an abomination, but it was far easier – and probably wiser – to humour them.

She had been escorted from the dormitories to the usual practice room. On the way there she had tried to strike up conversation with the two Templars, but they seemed very reluctant to talk. She knew the one – Ser Cullen – he was relatively new to the order, only having made his vows a year or two ago. Despite his having been at the Circle since then though he still seemed very withdrawn, perhaps it was because he did not always wear his helmet and while she appreciated any Templar who would be good enough to show their face, she could understand that it would make it easier to talk to someone if they would not be able to read you. The other knight was wearing his helmet still, and as he didn't speak to identify himself, she did not know who it was.

They eventually reached the familiar section of the tower where she had always been taught, but instead of leading her to the door and taking their posts there, they led her onwards, further into the tower. They carried on, down corridors that had an increasing lack of character. There were no more carvings and statues in the walls, the doors were mostly of a plain blackened wood with no markings, the stone here that the tower was built of began to take a uniform shape and size, each block looking exactly like the last; even the air tasted different, as if it was merely air to be breathed, with no scents or smells.

The trio eventually reached a room where unlike the others the ceiling was considerably lower than the usual, with its arches. On the other side, a small stairway led up into the room's ceiling; the Templars prompted that she head that way and followed closely behind.

Solona emerged into a large domed room; this had to be the top of the tower. In the centre there was a wrought iron pedestal that had a small basin on it, a brilliant blue glow emanated from it. Standing waiting for her were two more Templar knights and next to them Knight-Commander Greagoir and First-Enchanter Irving themselves.

That was when all the pieces seemed to slot into place, she was to take her Harrowing. As the First-Enchanter had described it, she would be facing off against a demon in the Fade and should she prevail, she would become a fully-fledged mage of the Circle. Greagoir had warned that should she fail and become possessed – an abomination, they would kill her.

She had used the liquid blue ore – lyrium - in the basin to cross the veil to the other side and now she was in the Fade, realm of spirits, demons and dreamers. The air here was the same as in the last few stories of the tower she had been in, perhaps even more tasteless. She had read that everything here was created by spirits trying to mimic that which they could garner from dreamers' dreams and memories, looking around she could tell that that was the only reason why someone would have put the place together the way it was.

She was standing on what seemed solid ground, paved with ancient crumbling cobbles, filling the cracks between the cobbles was a light grey dust that almost seemed like ash but more crystalline. Surrounding her was a pale wall that seemed to be made of bone and was horribly warped, bending in angles that made her wonder how it was still standing. The walled section she was in opened out onto a plain that while still mostly covered in the grey dust had bright green tufts of grass sticking out in places. Mushrooms as large as trees dotted the field and among them petrified trees of impossible size pierced the hazy green sky.

The Sky itself was overcast and Solona could see what seemed to be large chunks of land, simply floating there like clouds; some of these were also entwined in the massive gnarled branches of the petrified trees. To add to the strangeness, natural features were not the only things that seemed to behave differently. Walls, like the one near her, dotted the whole area, sometimes even coming together to form buildings that defied the laws of physics which seemed to be a recurring trend.

Items also seemed to be placed at random, tables arranged along the trunk of one of the mushrooms as if the trunk were the floor and chairs stuck to the ceiling. Solona observed all of this as she wandered through the fade, she didn't know how long she wandered; time seemed to have no meaning here. It could have been seconds, or hours, or years that she walked across the plain that was littered with strangeness.

The only thing that kept her going was one thing, she had a goal: triumph over the demon. The outside world seemed unimportant now, strangely detached and yet as the apprentice wandered she could not shake the feeling of increasing _wrongness_.

The fickle nature of the fade showed itself when after what seemed ages of wandering across the dust-strewn plain the rest of it just dissipated, so that she almost stepped into the void. Barely able to catch herself from tumbling over she took a few steps from the newly appeared edge. After gathering her composure again she took a few hesitant steps towards it again and looked down. The floor dropped away sharply, but instead of a rock-face it seemed like the orientation of the field she had been walking on had been changed and now the landscape was spreading downwards where it abruptly cut off and she could see that she herself was on just another one of the floating isles and that the overcast green sky spread below as it did above. She briefly wondered what would happen if she fell down.

"So they throw another ill-prepared apprentice to the wolves." A voice said from behind, sounding sad.

Solona squeaked in surprise, jumping from the edge again to see who had spoken. She looked around, but could not find the origin of the voice.

"Here."

She looked down; on the floor before her was a giant mouse with a glossy brown coat and dark eyes that were looking right at her.

"Who?" Solona asked suspiciously, looking around to see if there were any other animals she had overlooked.

"Why the Templars of course," the mouse said with a matter-of-fact tone. The voice seemed eerily familiar.

"What do you mean with that?" She asked.

The mouse looked at her, seeming to contemplate. Then it glowed brightly and its shape began to distort. Green vapour seemed to flow together around it and it began to take the form of a man. He seemed to be around her age, with unkempt mousy brown hair and wearing robes that seemed similar to what apprentices now wore, but a bit more archaic in design.

"I was like you once, I was sent here for my Harrowing. But the Templars… they… if you take too long they automatically assume you failed and cut your body down. With no body to return to, my spirit is trapped here." The man stated.

"And the mouse thing?"

"A trick I had to learn to keep the demons from finding me."

"You said that I was 'ill-prepared'. What makes you think that?" Solona asked.

"None of the apprentices sent here have ever been able to succeed in their Harrowing!" The man exclaimed, his voice laced with anger. "The Templars lure a demon here, promising it a meal and if the apprentice fails to defeat it - or takes too long - they are cut down."

Solona listened to what the man had to say, each word he said seemed to return some of the purpose that she had lost. Yes, she was here for her Harrowing, not only to defeat a demon that may be hunting her, but to succeed and become a mage of the Circle – and with magehood came more freedom. She would finally be able to find her place in the circle, to be counted as an equal and not shunned for some event she could barely recall.

"I will succeed." She stated, before setting off along the edge where the land had warped away.

The man seemed to sigh, "That's what they all said." He turned back into a mouse and followed after her.

"Why are you following me? And what's your name anyway?"

"I'm following out of curiosity and hope that you may indeed succeed. My name has long since been lost, I cannot remember; but you may call me Mouse."

After a short while they came to a small hill, as Solona and her new companion rounded it she could see a man standing there. He was wearing exquisite armour, the likes of which she had never seen. The metal was polished to the point that it seemed to emit its own light. The armour had a strange resemblance to Templar armour, as if the Order had tried to imitate this masterpiece. Surrounding the man were dozens of weapon racks and armour stands, all of them levitating slightly above the floor.

The displays were all crowded with weapons of the most breath-taking craftsmanship. Swords that had blades that seemed to be made of light, spears whose shafts looked as if they would never break, maces that looked as beautiful as they were brutal, axes whose blades would shear through rock, bows that would make the Dalish green with envy and staves that would be worth more than a year's supply of lyrium.

The armoured man had his back turned to Solona and Mouse, as they drew near he turned around. "Ah, another mortal set to be preyed upon by the demons, greetings!"

As he said that he put the weapon he had been working on to the side and dropped it. Instead of falling to the floor it gracefully flew to one of the empty slots in the racks surrounding him.

"I am Valour."

The young apprentice seemed to inspect him for a moment, but after a brief silence returned his salutation. "I am Solona. You said you are valour, is that your name?"

"No, it is what I am. I am a spirit of valour, but you may use it as a name if you so desire."

Solona nodded and looking around gestured with an arm. "All of these yours? It's an impressive collection."

The spirit nodded, "I made these, they are the finest a mind can conceive. The Fade's nature being what it is we can will anything into being. It is known to me that it is not so in the mortal realm, what a drab existence it must be."

Solona would have argued, but she got the impression that it would have made little impact; besides she was here to defeat a demon, not debate with what was no doubt one of "the Maker's first Children".

She considered asking the spirit if he could assist in the destroying of the demon she was to face, but she did not know how to wield any of the weapons besides the staves and it normally took days if not weeks for a mage to acclimatise to a new one. She would rather trust her own power than that of an untested stranger.

"Well, a pleasure to make your acquaintance spirit. I shall resume my task." Solona said as she set off inland, away from the edge this time. When she looked to where the spirit's workstation had been she saw nothing but dusty cobbles. The only living thing that remained with her was Mouse, who was giving her a look most curious.

She looked back to where she had been heading when she experienced a new sensation of the Fade. In the unmoving air was the scent of Brimstone.

_AN: Seems that once I hit game content the descriptive writing part of me took over and this chapter became longer than anticipated. I'll split it into 2 or 3 as necessary. This might become a recurring thing since I'd like to build on what's already presented the game, but put that there as well for people who haven't played it themselves (low chance that they would read this, but hey)._

_AN2: Damn fine work with Inquisition Bioware, loving it to bits… just please fix the technical issues. (I have to play it on my work laptop that uses an integrated GPU because it blackscreens on my gaming rig __) \o/ patch pl0x \o/_


	6. Change II

**Change II**

The sun glinted off the sword as it spun around, instead of finding its mark though it only found air and so it continued into the next arc. Instead of becoming another attack though, this swing moved to block as two daggers came slashing in. The powerful arm steering the sword twisted using the locked blades as a pivot, trying to land a blow with the elbow on his opponent.

The opponent realised the sword wielder's intention just in time, shifting balance from pressing the attack she leapt back, managing to make even this hasty retreat look graceful. This move in addition to the losing of weight against his sword forced the man to swing one of his legs around to catch his balance. He immediately assumed a defensive stance, watching his opponent wearily.

"Easy there Gil, you almost got me!" Elisa called. She was, as normally during practice sessions, only wearing her leather armour. Gilmore on the other hand was wearing the armour that had been commissioned for him for his knighthood - full silverite plate.

"Isn't that the purpose of a duel, m'lady?" The ginger-haired man said with a half-smile. Despite what the young Cousland had said, it had been years since Erik, or himself had managed to best her in a fight. While they had surely learned how to deal with a rogue's approach to fighting, she had picked up on traditional styles too and it seemed second nature to her to change tactics on the fly.

There was a trend among the nobility to have three children, with each their pre-destined roles. While the Couslands were three, it seemed that the mentality of the twins was that of the one destined to fill the role of the second child and they complimented each other accordingly. Elisa was skilled on the battlefield, quick-witted and adaptable. Erik on the other hand was steadfast and reliable; he saw the greater picture and had foresight that seemed uncanny. He tempered her recklessness and she spurned his reluctance into action; together they were the soldier and commander of Highever.

Ser Gilmore and Elisa were still watching each other for the next opportunity, for the next attack, when a squire came running in. "Lady Elisa, Lady Elisa!"

"Yes, Seth?"

Elisa and Gilmore shared a glance and nodded, lowering their weapons. They had both been wielding blunted counterparts to their normal weapons, the better to be familiar with the weight of the real thing. While it was more dangerous than using wooden practice weapons, the risks of being unfamiliar with a weapon in battle were undoubtedly greater.

"Lady Elisa, your father requests your presence in the great hall. The guests have arrived." The boy blurted out his message before scampering off.

"Hmm, I think I'll need to talk to that boy's teachers. He should know to wait for confirmation that the message was received before running off like that." Ser Gilmore said looking at the doorway the boy had disappeared through.

Elisa pulled off her leather cap, grinning. "Says the knight who couldn't even bring himself to convey the first message he was sent to deliver as a squire to a girl." Her hair had come loose from its bun and was spilling down around her face in a cascade of gold.

Gilmore turned a bright red, "That's not fair! You know what you do to men when dressed up and I was ignorant to the wiles of women back then."

"'Wiles' he says… come to think of it, I think mother was indeed having me try out some of those silly dresses that day."

"Speaking of dresses, should you not perhaps change before going to meet these guests?"

Elisa rolled her eyes, throwing her arms into the air with exasperation. "If there's any chance that I can chase away those ponce child-noble suitors by merely not bothering to clean up I'll take it."

With that she entered the castle, still covered in sweat, grime and dust. Ser Gilmore chuckled to himself as he gathered up their discarded gear and headed to the armoury. "Never change, my Lady, never change."

~o~

Erik was already with their father and the guest, Elisa grimaced when she saw who it was that they would be entertaining for the evening, but quickly composed herself before she walked up to the trio; she increased her pace a little when she noticed one of the visitor's armed escort leering at her.

"Ah, nice of you to join us daughter dearest – in such a presentable state too." The Teyrn said, upon noticing her arrival.

She smiled at how her father poked fun at her, but also noticed that he did not openly reprimand her. "I thought it would be appropriate, considering the times and perhaps also as a deterrent."

"Of that I have no doubt, may I present our guest, Arl Howe. He will be joining us in our fight against the darkspawn." The Teyrn gestured politely to the man he and Erik had been conversing with.

"A pleasure, my lady. Might I say that my son Thomas is around your age and would be very interested in meeting you." The Arl's voice had a nasally quality, that combined with his appearance of a hooked nose and long thin chin immediately put Elisa off, while she was not normally one to judge by appearance, but the rumours she had heard of him had given her enough cause not to filter any thoughts of him on this matter. The man was a weasel - and while he'd been a long standing friend of her father's she had picked up on talk of his recent dealings in their neighbouring hold of Ameranthine that put her ill-at-ease.

She looked at him flatly, "I'm not interested in arranged marriage."

The Teyrn laughed, breaking the tension that had built, "See what I have to deal with Rendon? It's no wonder I've gone grey this fast."

They were then interrupted by the arrival of an exotically armoured man in the hall. He had tanned skin – that of a man who spent more time outdoors than inside, he seemed to be slightly past his prime with deep brown eyes that looked like they had seen too much of the world, had a scruffy but not long beard and had his long brown hair tied back into a warrior's tail.

"And here we have the guest of honour!" Teyrn Cousland exclaimed. "Children, this is Warden-Commander Duncan, commander of the Grey in Ferelden." Both Elisa and Erik slapped their right fist against their chest in salute and bowed slightly.

"Duncan, meet my youngest, Erik and Elisa, the Soldier of Highever."

The Warden-Commander raised an eyebrow at this, "I have heard of the Soldier of Highever, I was under the impression that they would be a single person – as is usually the case."

"In battle we are one." Elisa said.

The Teyrn nodded. "They are twins, as their appearance might suggest – they were responsible for saving us a lot of grief with that mess with that Maleficar a few years back. First command too." He then turned to address his children, "Duncan is here to assess new recruits for the Wardens. I hear he has taken an interest in Ser Gilmore."

"If I might be so bold, my lord." Duncan interjected, "I was also hoping to try and recruit this 'Soldier' of yours. Although seeing the state of things I suppose that may no longer be ideal."

At this the Teyrn moved to stand between his children and the Warden-Commander. "I do not have so many children that I would have them all set out to war at once." He said defensively.

Duncan chuckled – a good natured sound, "Have no fear, my lord. I will not invoke the right of conscription; we are not so desperate for new Wardens that I would tear apart the family of a good friend for one – no matter their potential."

But Elisa's curiosity was perked, "I think joining the Wardens would be awesome, a chance to make a real difference!" She said leaning around her father's shoulder.

"Yes sister, but we have a duty here. Less glorious perhaps, but the people here need stability too." Erik countered, trying to calm his ever excitable twin. "While Fergus does all the boring noble stuff, we get to kick the snot out of anyone who challenges his – what will no doubt be a tyrannical – rule."

"First Highever, then the world!" Elisa dramatically exclaimed punching the air.

The Teyrn had moved back to his former position and covered his face with his palm. "I'm not about to die just yet. I would prefer it if you determine how to ruin my realm _after_ my eulogy."

There was a short silence which was then broken by the Teyrn again. "Arl Howe's soldiers have been delayed and will only be arriving tomorrow, understandable since this threat in the south appeared so suddenly." He looked at his children, "I will be leaving with him in the morning; Fergus is to set out with our soldiers this evening. I want you to tell him to prepare, I'm sure the rest of the things we have to discuss will only bore you."

"But I wanted to talk to the Grey Warden!" Elisa exclaimed, but before anyone else could respond Erik grabbed her by the shoulders and began steering her out of the chamber. "Yes father, we will also start preparing for our duties."

"Hey!" Erik steered his sister out of the room, despite her protests.

Duncan chuckled at these antics, "they take after you and your wife a great deal my lord."

The Teyrn sighed heavily, "I just hope that eventually she manages to find someone besides family that will put up with her – that said, the chances of it being a noble are slim indeed."

~o~

It had been a decade since they moved to Lothering, three years since the death of their father. At the time it had seemed unreal, their father had been invincible in their eyes. A master of the mind and magic; it had been his careful tutelage that had allowed them to live as apostates all their lives without discovery.

In the end it had been the desire to protect the anonymity and image of his family that had killed him. Surrounded by bandits while travelling to the local Arl's estate on business, he had been unable to fight them all off without the use of magic and so had been struck down. His body had been found later by a patrol and returned to the family. Sorana and Carver had been away then, still working as caravan escorts. When they eventually found out it had taken a while for the family to recover, but time does heal all wounds and eventually they put it behind them. His words still followed them wherever they went 'I choose to serve the best in me', something that would serve them well in the days to come.

Sorana walked into their home, closing the door behind her. Carver was sitting in a corner, whittling at a piece of wood. Bethany was helping their mother prepare supper. "Heard the news in town?" the eldest of the Hawke children asked as she moved to sit at the table.

"About the darkspawn to the south?" Carver asked.

"Yes, they say it is the start of another Blight. If it spreads, one of the first towns it will hit is here." Sorana looked to everyone in the room in turn. "I will go and join the army to fight it."

"No, you can't! It's far too dangerous." Her mother said worriedly.

"I must, this is my home… _our_ home."

Carver stood up from where he was sitting, "I want to go too."

Sorana looked at him earnestly, searching his face and then nodded.

Leandra stopped stirring the stew she had been preparing, frustrated. "But what if you get caught? Will you refrain from using magic just to protect us like your father?!" A sob escaped her, "and the darkspawn are monsters, you know the stories, to corruption. You've never fought anything like them before."

Sorana stood up and walked over to her mother, placing her hands on her shoulders. "There was a time when I hadn't fought anything. Running is not always the answer."

"Neither is fighting…"

"True, but if I can help protect others while protecting my family; I must… I must serve the best in me."

Leandra pulled away from her eldest, "I hate it when you use his words against me like that."

"I hate it too, but that does not make them any less true."

"Fine, but Bethany stays."

Bethany looked up at them from her work, "don't _I_ have a say in the matter?"

Sorana looked over at her, smiling gently, "Yes, but this is not something I would want to risk exposing you. For me and Carver fighting has been a way of life for the past few years and Father never reached the level in martial training with you as he did with us."

The eldest Hawk returned to her seat at the table, "I promise I will train you from where he left off once we return."

"I'll hold you to that." Bethany said, smiling as she always did.

So when the columns of soldiers started passing through the small town, Sorana and Carver prepared themselves for the journey. They signed up with one of the lesser noble's forces and attired in the auxiliary armour they were provided set off with the other recruits. Sorana had stashed her staff among the rafters of their home, asking Bethany to look after it in her absence. Carver took his own sword, stating that he trusted it far more than any blade produced on a large scale. Sorana took a shortspear, deciding it would be wisest to use a weapon she was familiar with.

The fifth blight had begun.


	7. Trials I

**Trials I**

Life at the Circle in Ostwick was quiet, far less exciting than Samantha had expected when she was first brought there. She had always thought that the Circles were wreathed in mystery and magic; in truth the magic was kept at a minimum, at least for the apprentices. The Templar oversight, while unnerving at first ensured that any mystery was kept to the bare minimum of dormitory gossip.

The young Trevelyan learned that life in the other Circles in Thedas was not all the same, they often varied depending on the cultures of the countries that they were located in and the dispositions of the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter. The Circles in the Free Marches varied greatly from city to city, as each state had their own. Apparently the Ostwick Circle was very sedate compared to the others; compared to Kirkwall that always seemed to have Mage-Templar tension. The Circles in Orlais on the other hand, were deeply involved in the Game, the political manoeuvring that the empire was constantly entrenched in. The Circle of Ferelden was probably the most balanced, but had a great deal of internal struggle between mages when it came to the fraternities.

Samantha was grateful for the relaxed nature of the Circle she was located in, if only because it meant that with the political clout her family had, she was occasionally allowed to visit them. There was always a pair of Templars that accompanied her on these visits, but it allowed her not to lose all contact with her loved ones. It was when returning from one of these trips that the unexpected happened.

They had just entered the courtyard that surrounded the gate of the first wall surrounding the Circle, the courtyard was intended to make the gate more defendable from an attacking force, but was also used by merchants to set up stalls and trade for magical and alchemical wares from and for those housed in the Circle.

It was already late in the day, as Samantha had set out as early as she could to spend most of the time that this privilege earned her productively. The sky was a fiery red as the sun reached the end of its daily journey and the courtyard had been largely emptied of people by this hour. Ahead of Trevelyan and her escort though, was a similar group to hers: two Templars accompanying a man.

Everything seemed to be normal – just a new addition to the Circle, or perhaps a case similar to hers - until the trio drew nearer to the gate that led to the Circle's inner courtyard. The man that was being escorted shouted out. One of the Templars that was with him grabbed onto his arm, this seemed to panic him as he tried to wrench from the holy soldier's grasp. Not succeeding he shouted out again.

"Get away from me!"

"Stand down, mage." The Templar responded, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet.

The two Templars with Samantha bristled and loosened their swords in their sheaths, preparing for the worst. The few people that were still in the courtyard – merchants packing up, or those whose route home took them through the area – turned to look at the commotion.

"No! I won't let you imprison me like you do those… those _sheep_!"

Fire formed around the man's free hand and he punched it into the Templar's chest. The result was a dull 'thump' as the world seemed to take a breath, and then let it all out again. The Templar and his companion were thrown from the man, who was thrown in the opposite direction. The one who had been hit was flung so hard that he collided with one of the pillars of the surrounding wall with a sickening crunch and then clattered to the floor. His companion was thrown onto the pavestones, and slid a short distance, dazed he tried to get up again, but was struck down by a bolt of lightning. He spazmed uncontrollably and then collapsed as well.

By now Samantha's escort had drawn their swords and raised their shields, inching forward warily. She was paralysed, unable to move as these events played out before her – emerald eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. The others that had been in the courtyard had fled screaming and recovering from where he had flung was the other mage who had started it all.

He was now looking at his hand with a curious expression, it had been bloodied – the skin split from punching a breastplate – and sparks were still jumping across it from his most recent attack.

"So…" despite his speaking so quietly, it still travelled clearly across the open space to the trio that was still in a position to hear him. "This is the power of blood."

"Maker silence you, Maleficar!" The Templar to Samantha's right called out, lowering his guard and pointing his sword at him in a challenging fashion.

This seemed to rile up the man, who screamed back. "Damn the Maker! Damn him and his Chantry! Now Burn, weakling!"

The Maleficar gestured at the Templar who had challenged him, but nothing happened. His face turned into an expression of confusion and disbelief. The two remaining Templars seized the opportunity and charged. When it seemed that they were almost on top of him and were about to cut him down, another thump shook the courtyard. Samantha blinked several times trying to clear her eyes and find out what had happened.

The second shock wave had sent her to the floor, market stalls had been crushed against the walls behind them, the two Templars that had been escorting her were both lying on the ground. Blearily she took all of this in, the ringing in her head still too strong to allow for any coherent thought. Standing in the centre of the courtyard now, where the man had been a moment ago was a monstrosity that was at least half his height taller than he had been.

It was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing – a plain commoner's – but the rest of the body was horribly warped, bulbous growths sprouting from its back to give it a hunched appearance. The arms were much longer and sinewy and had massive claws at the tip of each elongated finger; even creature's skin had become a sickly beige. Slowly Samantha's mind made the connection: Abomination, the man had allowed a demon to possess him.

One of the Templars that had charged him seemed to be struggling to get up. The abomination walked over to him, slow, deliberate steps. It laughed as it drew nearer to him and then picked him up by the neck with one of its mutated arms; the laugh was a deep, hollow, echoing sound, as if it were laughing into an empty barrel – as if it were laughing from an empty soul.

"Puny mortal, you have no power against me. Where is your maker now?" The creature's voice exhibited the same effects as its laughter did. Without flinching it broke the windpipe of the man it was holding and tossed him to the ground like so much trash.

Samantha was still prone on the floor unable to bring herself to move, unable to think. All she could do was watch in horror as the creature killed indiscriminately. It had reached the second Templar and after lifting him by a limp arm, punched straight through his breastplate and chest – arm emerging from his back seemingly unscathed by the platemail. It extracted the arm again, it making a sucking noise as it pulled out of the now dead man's body. The abomination discarded the second corpse just as it had the first – the mangled armoured body clattering to the now blood-stained cobbles.

Then it saw the young Trevelyan and with surprising speed appeared right in front of her, the strange gait it used seeming to move it at the speed a man could only run.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The creature said as it grabbed her by the scruff of her robes and dangled her in front of its horribly mangled face. Samantha could not quite tell where it was actually speaking from, where the man's mouth used to be there was now a large muscular growth that seemed to twist around its face and back around the neck, adding to the hunched appearance. "A child mage… and such a pretty one too. No doubt one of the Templar's pets."

There was no other word for it – she was terrified. Her mind seemed a blank slate and all her libs made of lead. Nothing wanted to work. The abomination eyed her over, its eyes dead and lifeless, yet somehow still moving – whatever there was now, there was nothing left of the man it had once been. "Whatever shall I do with you?" the creature mused to itself.

"Shall I simply kill you for being such a sheep? Or shall I convince you to join me? How about it, _girl_, how would you like to play with the Templars?"

Samantha could not bring herself to answer, the blind fear freezing everything. She could not fight, she could not submit. She could only hang there paralysed. "Whaaat? Nothing? My but you are a dull one. You're about as interesting as those four back there." The abomination said, pointing over its shoulder with its free hand.

"You know, since you're about as interesting as a dead person, how about you _become_ one!" Saying this it drew its arm back to do her in as it had its previous victim. Just as Samantha thought that it was the end the monster holding her shuddered, its face twisted into a look of confusion, then a second later a blade sprung from its chest.

Screaming it dropped the young mage and turned around, wrenching the blade impaling it from the wielder's grasp. "First Enchanter, some help here?" the Knight-Lieutenant nervously called, backing away from the creature.

"Yes, yes, of course." The elderly man behind him responded briskly.

Thrusting his staff into the sky, it glowed a pale blue as condensation formed around it. The abomination which had lifted its arm to swipe at the unarmed Templar before it stopped with its arm still raised as the temperature of the air around it dropped significantly. Suddenly it was encased in ice, unable to move. The Knight-Lieutenant carefully stepped around it, and with some effort extracted his sword. Then he kicked the creature in the leg – it shattered at the impact and the whole thing collapsed to the ground breaking to hundreds of gory pieces.

"What a mess…"

~o~

The terrain around Solona was changing again, the giant mushrooms, warped walls and odd bits and pieces from reality were slowly being replaced by large spires of a dark rock or metal that pierced into the green-hued sky. The Giant trees that had been connecting floating islands had also vanished when she hadn't been looking, where one of the larger islands had been obscuring her sight she could now see what seemed to be a distant city – dark spires reaching into the Fade much like the dark formations near her – the black city.

The place where every mage was told that, due to the hubris of the ancient Tevinter Magisters the Maker turned from his creation and the Darkspawn were born. Solona spared a glance to the place that was the supposed location of such a cataclysmic event; she didn't spend much time thinking about the events the Chantry taught had taken place and while she believed that it was prudent to know what happened in the past to prevent similar mistakes in the future, she did not believe it necessary to dwell on such things.

The Cobbled floor with its grey dust also started to give way, replacing it was a shale that seemed similar in substance to the black spires, but unlike the spires which were strangely glossy – as if polished – the groundcover was a dull matte, having been crushed underfoot until the smallest pieces were a dust unto themselves, that coated the larger pieces and stole away all the light that shone on them. At intervals the floor was split, emitting an eerie green light from an unknown source. The whole effect made it apparent that they were moving from what had been purely alien territory, to what was undoubtedly hostile alien territory. Mouse moved as close as he could to Solona without getting caught underfoot.

They reached a point where there were no more of the strange plants, instead before then the black rocks grew into canyons and cliffs. There seemed to be a path leading into these cliffs, but blocking their way was the form of a monstrous bear-like creature, that seemed to be lying, sleeping, before them.

It was easily twice the size of a normal bear, or at least what Solona believed the size of a bear would be – she had never seen one herself. Its fur was patchy, with sores and strange growths protruding from its body. Hard spines lined the creatures back and its claws were unnaturally large and long. She doubted that it was a beast of the mortal plain. It had one glowing yellow eye open that was lazily watching them as they approached.

"Mmm, _visitors…_" The creature said, Solona was unsure how, but the voice had seemed to come from inside of her head, instead of from the creature itself, which had not moved since they had laid eyes upon it.

"Are you the demon I am to be tested against?"

"Demon, such an ugly term… you may call me… _Sloth_." Every time the creature spoke it seemed as if it was about to fall asleep, with gaps in between phases as if it were either yawning, or stretching mid-sentence.

"Don't toy with me spirit, are you to be my opponent or not?"

"My, my… so excitable; but to answer your question… no, I am not your foe. But I might, mmh… savour what's left… once he is done with you."

Seeming satisfied with this Solona merely nodded and stalked past the creature. Mouse followed suit, but tried to keep her between it and him as much as possible. Before she entered the path into the cliffs though, she turned around sharply, causing Mouse to run into her. The large rodent sat on his hindquarters rubbing his snout while Solona briskly addressed the sloth demon. "If there will be anything leftover when this is done, it will not be of me."

Then as suddenly as she had stopped, she turned around again and disappeared into the ravine; blocking the bear-creature from sight. The path into the dark pillars was not a long one, after a sharp turn in the narrow path they emerged into a circular clearing. It was outlined by one of the cracks that had that green light shining forth from it. The clearing itself though had small patches of flames burning – seemingly fuel-less –the scent of brimstone was at its strongest here, the air reeked of molten rock, sulphur and fire.

"He is here!" Mouse called from near her ankle.

Solona's whole world seemed to shake and she heard a furious roar. In the middle of the clearing a spout of liquid fire erupted into the air, the two companions watched in rapped attention as the spout gathered together and formed into what was not a clearly defined body, but it had what would possibly be called arms and a head with glowing eyes that melted into the body without a proper neck or even mouth.

The fire creature roared again, the sound seeming to come from the very walls that surrounded them. Mouse squealed and scrabbled back to the path leading out. Solona spared him a glance, but if she had wanted to follow it would not have worked, because as soon as the rodent had made it into the passage the fire creature swung its amorphous arms upwards and flames erupted from the green crevasse and flowing over into the exit as if seeking to re-capture the mouse.

"Well, if you want me to stay that badly…"

Solona clapped her hands together and then twisted her fingers into several symbols in quick succession before facing her open palms towards the creature. There was a loud crack as the floor beneath the creature erupted into massive icicles, the sudden decrease in temperature also caused a small area of air around it to sink very quickly and everything was coated with frost.

Seeing her foe immobilised so she formed more symbols with her fingers and punched the air in front of her with her right, while holding onto it with her left arm. The air before her fist glowed green briefly – much like the light from the cracks in the floor - then chunks of dark shale appeared and flew together into a fist of rock that was twice the size of a man's head. The fist then shot forwards into the frozen mass that had been the fire creature. The collision was so hard that the entire thing simply shattered, but instead of falling to the floor the pieces simply vaporised.

As soon as the last piece disappeared the flames that had erupted around them dwindled and died. Mouse was back to his human form, robes singed in places and smelt slightly of burnt hair. His eyes were wide ad he looked around the clearing. "Woah, you actually did it…" He looked at Solona with a look of reverence, "I know you said you would do it, but I never actually thought it possible…"

Solona was walking around the clearing, brushing her hands along the black rock that made up the walls. "It was a great deal easier than I had expected it should have been. Anything can die; you would think the Harrowing would try a more, well… less straightforward approach."

She walked over to the middle of the room where the demon had appeared, testing the ground there, it wasn't even warm. Mouse walked over to her, "It doesn't matter! You did it, the first in… too long."

He smiled brightly, "you can go back now!"

Solona looked up at him through her eyebrows, "what of you?"

As suddenly as it had appeared the smile vanished again, replaced by a sad look, "my body is long dead, I will never be able to leave this place. Unless…"

He glanced hopefully at her, "I could go with you!"

Sorana breathed in deeply, the scent of brimstone was gone and the air had returned to its tasteless state. "You know, I'm starting to believe that this demon of rage was not my intended challenge."

She straightened up, looking Mouse in the eye. "Firstly, the Templars know of my potential, they would not test me in combat." She turned around and went back to brushing the chamber walls while walking along them, "Secondly, the harrowing only ends when one either wakes up or is possessed. The scenario that you said happened to you seems implausible, after all, when it comes to being patient and watching the most boring things, Templars would be my first choice to do that task."

Solona stopped walking again, turning to look at Mouse once more, "Thirdly, if anything, you would have been made tranquil, which would have killed your spirit here."

"So," she continued, "while you chose the form of a man, it is hardly one I find alluring and the character you have been displaying has been… disgustingly sycophant-like; there is only one conclusion I can come to: begone Pride, you have no hold over me, nor shall I succumb to your machinations."

The whole of the Fade in which Solona had been seemed to be sucked away and was replaced with emptiness. Leaving her and Mouse alone, his face began to twist as he laughed, "well done little mage, fear not, we shall meet again."

By the time he was sucked away with the rest of the Fade he had sprouted several more eyes and his teeth had become pointed, his grin twisting far further than any human mouth would have allowed. Then he was gone.

Solona blinked, breathing in deeply. She panicked when she saw that she was no longer in the chamber at the top of the tower, but relaxed once she recognised the familiar knots in the wood of the bed above her of the bunk she had been using since arriving at the Circle. Satisfaction and relief flooded her as realisation dawned on her; she had made it, she was now a Mage of the Circle.


	8. Trials II

**Trials II**

The evening was bound to be a long one, as usual when the castle had visitors. After sending the twins to find Fergus they had run into Ser Gilmore again, who came bearing a message from their mother; apparently Alfonse was managing to disrupt the kitchen staff again. It seemed that the mabari had a knack for getting into Nan's hair. The small group detoured from their objective of finding Fergus to quickly deal with the matter.

"I'm glad it's you whom I needed to approach about Alfonse, Erik." Gilmore was saying as they wandered through the castle's courtyards and corridors. "Your sister would probably only have gone to watch the chaos unfold while giggling gleefully."

"Heeey! Ow!" She had punched him on the arm, forgetting that he still had his full armour on. "Why are you still wearing that monstrosity?!" she complained.

Erik and the knight merely chuckled, the former ruffling her hair. "There, there, sis; not all of us are comfortable with running around in only a nug hide's worth of leather, stabbing things."

She stuck out her tongue at them and crossing her arms, stalked past, "Fine! You go and play with your doggy. I'll go see if I can help with the squires' tutelage again."

"'Help' she says, as if she's intending to do anything but distract their teacher from what he's actually supposed to be doing," Erik said as she walked past him again in the direction they had come, remembering that the library was in that direction.

"No spilling on my evil plots!" she called over her shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

As the two men neared the kitchen they could hear the ruckus Alfonse was causing. Over the barking one could just barely make out Nan's shrill yelling.

They marched into the kitchen to be greeted by a short elderly woman that wore her hair in a tight bun; she stuck a finger in Erik's face as soon as she noticed them. "That bloody mabari of yours is at it again! Get him out of my larder!"

"As you say Nan, just let me get past in one piece and I'll set to doing just that."

Nan stepped aside with a 'Hmph' and watched as the two men walked over to the larder's door, entering it. The scene in the larder was a curious one; the Cousland's mabari was standing in the corner of the room nearest the door, barking at the rest of the room as if the ingredients and items of food stored there were an audience.

The room itself was relatively small, only holding enough for the day's meals since it was refilled every morning from the castles actual stores; it was also where the finer and more expensive menu items were kept.

"Hey boy, what are you doing here?" Erik asked - interrupting the barking performance.

The mabari turned around enthusiastically and barked back.

"What is it boy, are you trying to tell me something?" The Cousland twin said as he scratched the massive hound's ears.

Alfonse barked again, as if in affirmation and hopped excitedly. He then turned back to the room and his demeanour seemed to change entirely, he growled at one of the larger stacks of crates, getting onto his hackles.

Erik immediately picked up it. "Gilmore, draw your blade. Something's not right here."

The flame-haired knight nodded silently, he knew better than to question when Erik used that tone. He pulled his hunting dagger from its sheath at his boot. Erik unsheathed the sword at his hip, it not being too long to wield in the somewhat confined space of the larder.

As soon as the blades were bared, Alfonse lunged at the stack. To the shock of the two men there, a massive rat jumped from the shadows behind it, making an almost feline hissing sound. The creature was a monstrous example of its species – larger than a badger.

The creature backed into a corner, small evil eyes leering at the dog and the two humans. It made the hissing sound again and without warning smaller – but still large – rats sprang from other hiding spots.

"Oh how cliché…" Erik muttered as the swarm of rats ran at them.

They spent the next minute knee-deep in rats, the rodents unable to do anything to the two warriors in their armour and the mabari being too quick for them despite its bulk. Alfonse struck at the edges of the swarm, picking off rats one by one as opportunities presented themselves. Erik and Ser Gilmore waded into the midst of them, stomping down with heavy armoured boots. Gilmore held his knife at the ready but only used it to kill the rats that he grabbed when they tried to climb his legs. Erik swung his sword around, cutting the rats down in twos and threes. When rats tried to climb up him he simply pulled them off with his free hand and flung them at his dog to finish off or to the floor again where he could crush them.

They eventually managed to kill most of the vermin and the remaining ones scattered back into the shadows as Ser Gilmore plunged his dagger into the skull of the first and largest of them. It died with a pitiful squeak, far different from the aggressive hissing it had been doing until that point.

"Giant rats," he said, cleaning his blade on a scrap of cloth he had found in a corner. "Sounds like the beginning of every bad adventure tale my granpa used to tell."

After the knight had cleaned his blade he tossed the cloth to Erik who also used it to clean his weapon. "Indeed, but those were no ordinary rats. That one there could eat my sister's cat!" the Cousland said, pointing at the giant specimen Gilmore had killed.

"That cat would probably have confused it into suicide before it managed to be eaten," the knight said grinning. When Alfonse had been imprinted on Erik, their parents had gotten Elisa a kitten to assuage any feelings of jealousy. Strangely enough the cat was a stark contrast of intelligence when compared to the dog – something that would normally not be attributed to its species. Those who got to know the feline were all convinced that it had been dropped on its head before being gifted to the other twin, which seemed only to endear the cat to her. It spent most of its time meowing at windows and walking into things.

But then Ser Gilmore's face turned grave, "Jests aside, I have seen these before; they are native to the Korcari Wilds. For them to come this far north, there must truly be something to this talk of a Blight; I doubt animals would come this far north were it only a raid."

Erik had finished cleaning his sword and returned it to its sheath and turned to the larder's doorway, patting his leg, indicating that Alfonse follow. "Then I suppose we should make all haste to inform Fergus; both of this and the errand father sent me and Elisa on… I doubt she's completed it."

The two men made their way to the residential wing of the castle. One of the servants had nearly fainted upon seeing the carnage in the larder, but Nan's iron fist had ensured that it would be cleaned up – after all, they had guests to feed this evening. In the foyer to the wing they ran into Elisa again, who had a slightly worried expression on her face.

"Sister, something troubling you?" Erik asked as soon as she drew nearer.

"Yes, they are asking me to help _more_ with the squire's tuition!" She exclaimed, mortified.

Ser Gilmore had to laugh at this, Erik merely grinned wryly, saying: "And here we were, ending the tyrannical reign of the Rat King of Highever, praying that our beloved sister would not be too disruptive while we were engaged."

"Rats? Eurgh… I should really get Alfonse to teach Brambles what other purpose claws and teeth can have aside from cleaning oneself. At least that explains the smell" Elisa said, rumpling her nose.

"Well, now that my task is complete I should probably prepare to meet this Warden everyone is speaking about," Ser Gilmore said. "Don't get lost on the way to finding your brother."

Splitting up, the twins headed off into the wing to find Fergus together, passing by the Teyrna who was busy speaking to more visitors who had come. Tyrna Eleanor had decided she would visit among the lesser nobles for the duration of the fighting so that the twins would not feel she were undermining them nor that they would rely on her for everything. Even now things had been planned to allow for the best growth, even for those not heading to battle. Eleanor Cousland would host the first of these families in Castle Highever this evening and then set off to their lands in a day's time.

The pair found Fergus Cousland in his quarters, where he was finishing up his packing and bidding his wife and son goodbye. "And here are my little brother and sister to see me off. Now dry your eyes, love, and wish me well," the Cousland heir said as the twins entered his chambers. Oriana, his wife, and Oren, his son, were also in the room, the prior trying vainly to hide teary eyes. The latter jumped up excitedly from where he had been sitting at the bed's foot upon seeing who the new arrivals were.

"Uncle Erik! Aunt Lisa! My dad is gonna fight barksawn!"

"Aha!" Elisa cried as she caught up the youngster, "'Barksawn' you say?" After setting him down again she crouched before him looking him into the eyes with a serious expression. "And pray tell, what are these creatures? Sawn up barks? That would explain perfectly why Alfonse hasn't been sounding the same lately."

"No, Aunt Lisa!" Oren launched into an explanation of what he thought was happening. The three others assembled in the room just looked on, bemused. Finally Erik turned to his elder brother, "Father wanted us to tell you to prepare to leave with the troops today. Arl Howe's forces are running late and will only arrive on the morrow – he will travel with those."

Erik looked to the antics of his twin and nephew, "Elisa would of course, prefer to go to war with you and I would be lying if I said I were not concerned myself." He then gave his brother a sombre look, "Ser Gilmore and I killed Korcari Rats in the larder, that they would be driven this far north bodes ill."

Fergus put an arm around Erik's shoulder and patted him heartily on the chest, "Trust me, I would feel that much safer having either or both of you at my side. But I hear the fighting is going well and by the time I arrive all that may be left are darkspawn corpses."

"Please still be careful dear," Oriana said, her voice carrying a trace of an Orlesian accent. "I could not bear to lose you." Oriana was the daughter of a wealthy Orlesian merchant, she and Fergus had gotten to know one another when he had stopped by Castle Highever on the way home from business in Denerim.

She was a beautiful woman, with fair skin and auburn hair. As all Orlesians, she had a fondness for facial paint and make-up, but her stay in Ferelden had resulted in her only using it sparingly to accentuate what was already a lovely face. She was only slightly shorter than Elisa, but unlike her sister-in-law, she preferred courtly vestments to those of battle.

It was rare to see relationships such as hers and Fergus' blossom, considering the animosity between the two countries, especially among the nobility. But while some believed the eldest Cousland to have turned his back on his nation, others thought that it was a sign of better relations in the future. The rulers of Highever never paid this talk any heed though. To them they were family and that was all that mattered.

"Daddy, are you gonna bring me a soword?" Oren asked in a begging tone, seemingly having grown tired of whatever it was he and Elisa had ended up talking about.

"That's _sword_, Oren." Fergus said chuckling, "and I'll bring you the biggest, sharpest sword I find."

"Absolutely not!" Oriana said emphatically, "You can get him a sword when he comes of age. I'll not have our son running around with a monstrous blade at such a tender age."

The future Teyrn simply laughed good naturedly at his wife's objections, "He'll need to learn how to use one eventually, but I'll let you hold onto the one I get until you deem him old enough." He turned to address the twins again, "I hear Ser Gilmore is a potential recruit for the Grey Wardens, although if I were to have a say I'd think you would be the far better candidates."

"Father won't hear of it," Elisa said sullenly.

Fergus chuckled again – he was a very happy person – "Then I shall simply have to kill enough darkspawn for the both of us."

That was when the door opened and their parents walked in. "So, we weren't too late to miss wishing you farewell after all," Bryce Cousland said upon entering.

"I'm still not sure how I feel about both of you going to fight those… _monsters_. Maker, protect us," Eleanor prayed.

Fergus grinned broadly, "And send us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Seemingly not concerned what his mother and wife would think of it.

Oren looked up at his father curiously, "What's a wench? Is that what you pull to get the bucket out of a well?"

The Teyrn looked down sternly at his only grandchild. "A wench is a woman who pours ale in a tavern, Oren; or, uh… a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

The Teyrna sighed heavily. "_Men_, at least the twins are more sensible."

Elisa looked at her mother with a shocked expression, "_I_ happen to be very good at wenching."

"Sister," Erik deadpanned, "you've never touched drink since Bann Troy's tourney."

"Spoilsport."

Fergus looked at the twins, "You two look after mother while we're away."

Elisa made dismissing gestures, "Pff, mother can scold any foe into submission. We have the safest teyrner."

"Watch it, young lady" Eleanor responded in with a warning tone.

"See what I mean?!"

"Be that as it may," Fergus said, "I should probably head off - so many darkspawn to kill, so little time to do it in."

The small family meeting drew to an end then, with Fergus leaving. The twins finalised any plans that needed to be gone through with their father for the running of the castle before he left in the morning. Then they too went on their way. The evening meal was a simple one, considering that the castle had so many visitors. But the air was different from what it was normally like; it held portends of war.

So everyone eventually headed off to bed, some to make last minute preparations for departing; but it was not long until the castle fell asleep and while there was a particular tenseness to the mood, it was still peaceful and likely the last peace the castle would have for a very long time.

~o~

_AN: Well, that chapter had to be pulled out of me kicking and screaming, not to mention what used to be 25% of my chapter consumed a whole one without even coming to an end. I'll see if I can stick the rest into the second half of Trials III or maybe even push it into a Trials IV._

_So far I have been writing the events 'off by heart' and mixing in my own stuff, but there are some dialogue I will most definitely want to work into my story directly from the game__. __ Bioware's writers have produced some true gems of humour (and the voice actors delivered their part admirably too)._


	9. Trials III

**Trials III**

The progress made by the auxiliaries was slow. Only few of the men and women recruited from the freeholders were in any condition to be able to keep up the forced march they had been for an extended length of time. The main force gathered by the king and most nobles had already made it to Ostagar, an ancient fortress that had been built by the Tevinter Imperium of old to defend against the Chasind. It seemed fitting that the ruin would serve to protect from a threat in the south once more.

Sorana watched the men and women around her. She was sitting on her pack, polishing the shaft of the spear she had taken with an oil, whose properties if known to the Templars would have made it illegal. It was like most oils used to polish weapons, with one simple addition, namely lyrium. She had bought powdered lyrium from a shady dwarf the last time they had passed through Denerim and had added it to what had at the time been simple – if good quality – weapon oil. The result was an oil that would allow for far better conducting of magic through whatever it was applied to.

Every time the column had stopped to rest she had used the opportunity to treat her new weapon with the concoction. The use of the oil on a blade was of minimal effectiveness, as it would only be a very thin coating and would also eventually be wither washed or wiped off in the traditional manner, considering a blade's use. Wood though, would absorb the oil, strengthening the wood in addition to allowing it far better conducting of magic. This trick allowed Sorana to create a makeshift staff out of almost any reasonable tree limb.

It was almost amusing, seeing normal people and Templars walk by her as she, an apostate, crafted a weapon that would be capable of unleashing unimaginable destruction, if used correctly. Carver eventually sidled to her, offering her a bowl of stew – the days evening ration. "This is pathetic," he said, tone condescending, "I doubt many, if any, have even held a sword before and they are supposed to stop the _darkspawn?_"

Sorana didn't look at him as she answered; slowly eating the food she'd been given, "Some are here because they have no choice; some are here for reasons similar to our own. Others are here merely to be able to kill with licence and others yet because of naïve notions of the glory that's to be won."

She put down the now-empty bowl, "Whether we stop the darkspawn or not, each of us will have their roles to play in the fight that is to come, have no doubt of that."

"Bah!" Carver said, making a dismissive gesture, "There you go again with the putting on of supposedly wise airs. Spare me the prattle and just make sure not to blow our cover too soon, if at all possible."

Sorana simply smiled sadly, she knew not what, but something was giving her an uneasy feeling about all that was happening. She pushed her melancholy thoughts aside - probably only a by-product of the Blight.

They set up camp for the night where they had stopped and set off again in the morning. Eventually they reached the fortress that was possibly one of the last signs of civilization before the inhospitable south. Ostagar's great white columns and arches pushed through the trees and wilderness like the spines of a long dead dragon. Only two structures seemed to have weathered time well, the great bridge spanning the ravine in the centre of the fortress and the giant tower that greeted them as they approached.

"At the very least we have a solid, defendable position," Carver muttered as he and Sorana moved along with the other auxiliary troops.

The elder Hawke absorbed the ancient structure as they wandered past, marvelling at the stonework and architecture. She could not help but think about its builders, the Tevinter. A society where magehood was not shunned, but embraced; but it also had its pitfalls, such a society. The life of others suddenly loses a great deal of value with slavery and blood magic not attracting a second glance.

Sorana could see makeshift watchtowers being erected, along with palisades, to fortify the Ostagar tower's position. Even more men were bustling around the base of the tower itself. Obviously it would be pivotal in whatever battle plans that were being laid.

The column then started making its way across the bridge to the other side of the ruin, there where the army encampment was. Below them even more defensive structures were being built into the ravine and the surrounding cliff walls. From the bridge's height it looked like the men were scurrying over their emplacements like so many ants. Sorana wondered if Ferelden had ever mustered such an army, although it was probably far from all the armed forces in the kingdom. She had heard from talk among the soldiers that key nobles had been instructed to stay behind with their garrison to maintain order while the king waged war in the south.

The auxiliaries passed by several brightly coloured pavilions on their way to the main army camp; no doubt this part of the fortress had been reserved for people of importance - those _above the rabble_. The two Hawkes eventually found themselves in the army camp with nothing to do as their group had been given a short break after setting up their tents, to recover from the march.

Carver muttered something about a game of dice, while Sorana eventually decided to wander over to the colourful pavilions they had passed earlier. On closer observation it seemed as though her judgement had been slightly misplaced. The area had been reserved for the nobility after all; instead, most designated areas in that zone were for specialized groups and organisations that had gathered to fight. Pavilions had been erected for the three most powerful families in Ferelden: Theirin, Mac Tir and Cousland; the other zones were for those that had come from the Circle of Magi, Ash Warriors, Chantry and of course the Grey Wardens. Sorana found that the quartermaster and infirmary had also been located in this section of the keep. All in all, it was the nexus of power in Ostagar. She continued to explore a bit more and observe the people who stayed there until she deemed that it was probably best that she return to her battalion.

~o~

"All right greenhorns, listen up!"

The squad Sorana had been assigned to, stood in slightly misshapen ranks - the sergeant marching up and down before them, bellowing at the top of his lungs. He was a hardened man who sported an impressive moustache in addition to an ugly scar running across his nose.

They were closer to the edge of the camp now and it was easy to see how the wilderness was slowly absorbing Ostagar. There was also a foul stench in the air, that burned the sinuses as one inhaled. The eldest Hawke wondered if it was something coming in from the outside of the camp, or if it was some potion that the alchemists were cooking up.

"So you all think you have what it takes to defend Ferelden, eh?! Well guess what?! _You don't!_"

The man stopped pacing, turning to face the squad. "And _I'm_ here to make sure that you don't die within a day of being here!"

Then he gestured to the floor at his feet, Sorana strained to see what he was pointing at, only to find what the most likely source of the horrible scent was. It was a corpse, shorter than elf or human, but far stockier. The creature wore scraps of armour that seemed to have been salvaged from various sets and was badly maintained. There was an ugly gash running from its left shoulder across its chest to the belt line, clearly the cause of death.

One of the soldiers assembled threw up. Sorana merely wrinkled her nose in disgust. So _that's _the darkspawn. As if to confirm her thoughts the sergeant continued: "This here is a Darkspawn, a Genlock, to be precise. These are the most common 'spawn you will encounter, they are vicious, cruel and cunning andthey will kill _you_, your family and everyone you know; unless, _you_ kill the sons of bitches_ first!"_

The sergeant looked at the motley group assembled before him with a beady eye, as if challenging them. "Now form up into _real_ ranks and get ready to march; we'll be patrolling just outside the southern palisade in the valley. I hope you all know how to use those weapons, because you _will_ be using them!"

~o~

The one of the daggers intercepted the sword's downward swing, deflecting it away from its intended target; the other cut upwards, under the assailant's guard, into his armpit. The man gurgled as the keen edge found his heart, strength leaving his legs as the life bled out of him leaving his face frozen in a mask of shock.

Elisa twirled around, crouching just in time to dodge a blade that came for her head. Moving like water, she carried the momentum into her next attack as she pushed up with her legs, her whole body uncoiling like a spring. She cut the second attacker from groin to chest, he cried out, flailing with his weapon to claim a final revenge; but Elisa was already gone, running to rescue one of the guards that were being attacked.

Erik was also embattled, wielding his sword and shield he was keeping three men occupied. He, like his sister was a master at his art. One of the soldiers lunged at him, but instead of blocking with his shield, he parried the blow with his sword and then swung the shield around to impact with the unfortunate man's head. The man's eyes crossed over has his helmet gave off a ringing noise at the impact, denting horribly under the power of the blow.

The other two tried to take advantage of their unfortunate friend's distraction, but Erik merely shifted his footing and brought his shield up, shrugging off the one attack. The other never made it that far, his eyes wide as he tried to look at the crimson-coated arrow growing out of his throat.

The twin nodded his thanks to his mother, who was standing at the end of the room wielding a longbow. Her attire was in stark contrast to the finery she had been wearing earlier that evening; instead of the tasteful gown, she was now wearing aged leather armour. Erik had thrown on a mail hauberk and Elisa was not wearing any armour at all, flying through the room in her nightgown that was quickly turning red from the blood of her foes.

Finally enemies stopped pouring into the residential wing, Eleanor stopping two who tried to flee the carnage with well place arrows. The guards that had survive the initial assault wearily took positions at the doorway leading to the rest of the castle as the three Couslands came together to take stock of the situation.

"Seems like they came here in force." Erik commented, looking for something to lean his sword with.

"And with good reason," the Teyrna added. "If there is no nobility left to claim Highever, that dog can easily subdue any other opposition and from the looks of things he plans to make sure that none of the castle staff will be allowed to remain alive as witnesses to this treason either."

"Clearly he didn't overcompensate enough when he sent that small army here." Elisa muttered, a dark look in her face.

There was a short pause, nobody wanting to say anything. There had only been one other time when the beautiful woman had had that look in her eye, a feral glint that promised death to any that stood in her way. Eleanor had never seen her daughter in such a state, but she could easily understand why; where grief seemed to be swallowing the older woman's heart, rage was consuming the younger's.

On a casual glance Erik seemed to be his calm self, but the normal warmth that he emanated was missing. Instead of the reassuring, witty, reserved man he usually was, he now to emitted an aura of cold.

"Sister," he said, his tone devoid of emotion, "find something suitable to wear. I shall go see if I can find a pair of breeches for myself as well."

Elisa nodded, and headed back the way they had come, to her chambers.

They came together again after having equipped themselves, Elisa now wearing an outfit similar to her mother's. Erik had found breeches and a solid pair of boots and was busy trapping on a pair of vambraces he had taken from a dead soldier.

"I don't ever want to make that trip again… past _that_ room." Elisa said after returning.

"That is a sentiment I fully agree with," Erik muttered. "But in order not to ever have to walk past there again and to make sure the bastard who started all of this gets his due, we need to get out of here."

The Teyrna nodded, "We should find your father first. He was still in council with Howe when I went up to bed."

"Let's pray that he is still alive then."

~o~

The fighting through the castle was brutal, not only because of the opposition they faced, but also the shock of seeing what had been their lifelong home and had promised to be the home of their children, go up in flames and blood. Every room seemed to have the stiffening bodies of once-familiar faces, which were now so alien in the rictus of death, with looks of fear and confusion blemishing memories that had once been a joy to recall.

Erik now bore the sword and shield of Highever, ancient family heirlooms that they had saved from the vault before the attacking soldiers had managed to break through the thick wooden doors that protected a small fortune. The twin was a beacon to all those survivors that were still holding out against the attacking forces the bright blade cutting through all foes and the proud heraldry on the shield bringing hope to all defenders who saw it. At his side, his sister darted in and out of combat, striking and vanishing as if a ghost. From behind them the Teyrna loosed shaft after shaft into any oncoming foe. All those that managed to escape that night would spread the tale of how valiantly the Couslands had fought to defend their home against unbeatable odds.


	10. Turning Point I

**Turning Point I**

The elderly man walked through the echoing halls with a confidence born of years of living among them. His stride was purposeful and in stark contrast to what one would normally expect of someone of his advanced years. Even in his twilight years, the man made sure that his body was in prime condition.

After a lengthy journey through the winding corridors he finally reached it. A door, set into the stone, it had no particular markings or characteristics that would let it stand out among the others. Yet here the man stopped and after a short pause, as if gathering himself, walked up to it and used the knocker to rap a quick staccato – the noise bouncing off the stone walls and magnifying exponentially.

Several seconds later, one could hear a bolt being withdrawn on the other side, and golden candle-light spilt into the corridor as the door opened a crack, a worried face peering through to see who the visitor was. Recognising the elderly man, the face mumbled an apology and moved to open the door further.

"First Enchanter, it is good to see you!" the mousy woman who had opened the door said breathily.

Behind her was a small chamber with a simple bed. There was a tray of bread and water set on a small table that stood against the one wall and domineering over it all was the figure of a fully-armoured Templar. While it seemed that the holy soldier was trying not to be out of place, he was failing miserably. In the far corner, on the other side of the bed was a small form huddled away as if trying to hide. Even from where the Frist Enchanter stood, he could see that the body was shivering and that only being interrupted by the occasional sob.

"I take it that there has been little change since last week?"

"None at all m'lord," the woman replied demurely.

"Hmmm," the man mused to himself, "A pity, she showed such potential."

He turned to leave, as he reached the door he looked over his should again, "Keep up the vigil, what the poor girl bore witness to that night was far too much for a mind that tender. We do not know how it may have affected her and if demons will be able to exploit it."

The Templar brought his right fist over his heart in salute, bowing his head slightly. With that, the First Enchanter left the room and the maid spared a pitying glance for the dishevelled form in the corner and closed the door after leaving to retire for the night.

"_In the dark where dwarves do die,_

_Creatures of the darkness cry,_

_Hear the monsters' hollow roar,_

_Hear the drums of holy war,_

_When the legends of the sky_

_And the shackled do defy;_

_Know that she approaches,_

_A heraldship she poaches._

_From the world across he comes_

_Thedas into turmoil runs."_

The Knight-Templar shivered as the haunting words carried across the still air from the girl huddled in the corner. He tightened the strap on his shield and then gripped the hilt of his sword. Maker willing they would decide what to do with her soon, for even as much as he pitied the thing, the red-haired girl scared him more than anything natural had the right to.

~o~

Elisa walked into something large, and from the texture, leathery. She bounced off it and landed in the dirt of the road, groaning. "Urgh, did you hav_e_ to stop in the _middle_ of the way?!" she complained as the large leather object before her turned around.

The leather object happened to be her twin brother's travel-pack and he was wearing a weak smile as he leaned down to help her up. "No, but someone has to make sure your zombie-walks don't last forever."

She grumbled as he lifted her, "Not everyone has the endurance of a Qunari like you. Besides, switching off helps in more ways than one…"

At this Erik only nodded. No words were needed. They had lost everything at Highever, everything but the clothes on their backs and the weapons they bore. So far the only survivors of that nightmare that they knew of had been them; even their parents eventually having died in protection of each other and their home.

Alfonse walked up besides Elisa and pushed his head into her hand, licking it. She smiled at the dog's attempt at comforting her and crouched down before him, wrapping her arms around his thick muscled neck. "At least we still have you Alfie," she said, the fur muffling her words.

"The reason for our stopping, Lady Cousland, is that we have finally arrived at Ostagar."

It was Duncan who spoke; the aged Grey Warden commander had also survived the attack by Arl Howe on their family home, attesting to the skill that was always attributed to those of the Order. He was now also the lifeline for the twins. While they might have survived the slaughter of their family; they no longer had much in the way of land or resources. They would be defenceless against the machinations of whoever had instrumented the death of their parents.

With his last words, Teyrn Bryce Cousland had asked Duncan to take his youngest into the Order. So that they might survive the oncoming storm and perhaps even recover what the family had lost. Now they were at Ostagar, the first line of defence against the recent Darkspawn incursions.

Elisa looked up and around, noticing the marble ruins for the first time. "Well, if that's the case, then let's get to whoever is in charge here and tell them to kill Arl Howe!"

The small group set off together again, towards where the army was camped. "That might not be an immediate option, my Lady," Duncan said as they walked, "The king himself has been fighting and recently we have been victorious in every engagement."

"Well it seems like everything is perfect then! Forget the Darkspawn - kill Howe!"

"My Lady Cousland, with every attack the Darkspawn numbers are growing. Many doubt us Wardens, but this is indeed a Blight and it is not won until the Archdemon shows itself and is destroyed."

"Hmph!" Elisa pursed her lips and folded her arms, sulking. "And stop calling me 'My Lady'! I hate it. Plus I'm not a lady of anything at the moment anyway."

Duncan face cracked into a grin, most of it hidden by his beard. "As you wish… my Lady." At this Erik burst out laughing. Elisa merely harrumphed again and sulked deeper.

Soon the party came upon a barricade in the ancient road. Two soldiers that were playing cards on stumps of wood looked up at their approach. One got up and walked up to them, lifting his hand to indicate that they stop. "State name and business, Citizens."

As the last word left his mouth the pip of a peach flew out from under one of the nearby pines and bounced off his head. He turned sharply, addressing the tree, "Oi, what was that for?! Hi'm conducting official business 'ere!"

"Don't be such a potato, Garrod," the tree responded in a female voice, "That beardy one is the Warden-Commander and by the looks of those threads and armour the other two are nobility, not to mention a Mabari! Never question a Mabari."

Alfonse barked enthusiastically, agreeing.

"Ah," the man responded, "right you are ser. Pardon me, Warden-Commander, I'll have the barricade out of the way in a moment."

The man moved past his comrade who was snickering to himself and kicked the stool he was sitting on from under him, sending the man into the dust. "Don't sit there laughin' an' all that, help me with this thing."

Duncan and Erik waited calmly while the two soldiers laboured to move the barricade aside. Meanwhile, Elisa was looking at the trees with a strange expression. But as soon as the way was clear the party moved onwards, heading into the camp.

The woman's voice came from the tree again, "Soon as you got that thing in place again, Lond, take a message to the king and let him know the Warden-Commander has returned, probably with more warden recruits in tow."

"Yes ser, ma'am ser."

Lond flinched as a pinecone bounced off his shoulder.

~o~

Sorana watched as the small group went past from her place beneath the low-hanging boughs. The girl had stared at her for a while, well, at the tree. There was something about them that the eldest Hawke could not place her finger on, something that seemed to be screeching for attention at the back of her mind. But try as she might, nothing came. So she did the soldiers thing, and did nothing while she could. Leaning against the tree beside her was her spear, the wood now nocked and the blade chipped from the encounters she'd had with the Darkspawn.

There had not yet been need for her to use magic to defend herself, but if the need would arise, she would be ready. The oil she had been treating her spear with had by now worked itself well into the wood and it would conduct magic as well as any average mage's staff.

Her prior experience had won her some attention higher up though. She had been put in command of a small group of soldiers from the auxiliaries, all of which had been blooded in combat by now. It had taken some a few days to recover from their first exposure to the harsh reality that was war, but Sorana had promised herself that she would do her best to protect those she was responsible for.

The travellers had coated in dust from the road, and their equipment seemed to have seen recent use, but there was no doubt about it. They were not your average Warden recruit, stolen off the gallows. Both the man and girl had a fluidity to their step that spoke of years of marching experience and their physique was too hard to be that of anything but a fighter. But there was something else about them that nagged at Sorana; there was a hollowness to their eyes that betrayed the somewhat-forced looking smiles on their faces. These people knew the truth of this hard world and had been reminded of it recently.

There was also the fact that the Warden-Commander had gone so far as to recruit nobility, Sorana had heard the talk around the campfires, some thought that this was no true Blight, as those of legend; there was talk that even the king might share this sentiment. But the Grey Wardens were adamant in their belief. In their eyes this was a Blight and as they were supposed to be the foremost authority on the matter there had to be _something_ to the claims.

The recent influx of recruits was proof of how the Wardens felt; elves, dwarves and humans of every stripe seemed to have joined the Order over past month that the Hawkes had spent at Ostagar. Every week one of the more seasoned wardens came in with fresh blood in tow. But these were not what one normally thought of when one pictured a recruit. The ones that followed the Wardens to join their order all had the same look about them: bodies that bespoke of a lifetime-struggle to survive and coming out on top, eyes that were haunted with sights that would cause the faint-of-heart to collapse and strangely enough, an unwavering faith in those that led them.

Another oddity was that there seemed to be two of every race that was recruited by the Wardens. Sorana wondered if it had been planned that way or if it was just chance. A squad had returned from scouting the deep roads beneath Orzammar for clues to this blight with two dwarves in tow, a scruffy male that seemed to want to fade into the non-existing crowds at every opportunity and a proud woman that kept pace with the taller human's stride using a brisk march. There had been a warden that had returned from Denerim after retrieving some wares from the Warden cache there. He had been tailed by two elves, one clearly Dalish if one were to judge by the exotic armour and face-markings, the other had probably been picked up in the capital, seemingly uncomfortable in the wilderness.

Now the Warden-Commander himself returned and he too had a pair in tow, humans this time. The man wore plate armour of a quality Sorana had rarely seen – if not a full set. Traveling in full plate-mail was not a pleasant experience; he probably shed the less vital pieces and had them stored in his pack. The hilt and sheath of the sword at his side seemed of a metal and craftsmanship that one would be hard-pressed to find. She smiled at that, thinking of Wade, the smith whom she had requisitioned to forge the blade of her true staff.

Then there was the woman. She wore primarily tight, form-fitting leather that would be sure to catch the eye of any man – and some women. In vital areas though it had armour plating bonded to the leather, as though it were armour created for dexterity instead of actual protection. Sorana was curious to see how the woman fought; no doubt it would be a spectacle worth beholding.

She idly wondered about what it would be like amongst such a company as the Wardens. Where no one had a similar beginning, but all lived, worked and fought together as equals. Lond returned to his post at the barricade, having relayed his message to the King. He and Garrod had moved on from their game of cards and were now playing with dice. Sorana was so lost in thought that when one of them cried out she almost lost her seating.

"Shit boss! It's _you!_"

Trying to regain her composure, grateful for her spot behind the branches for having spared her pride, she called, somewhat angry at the outburst for it having caught her so off guard.

"The hell do you mean?!"

"There's another one of them Warden people coming back, that strange blonde bloke with the fancy hair."

"You mean Alastair?"

"'Spose."

All of the women in the camp had eyed up the handsome young warden at some point or other. Sorana had worked as a mercenary for several years now, but even so, some of the plans the girls came up with for the poor man had made even her blush a colour she was not used to seeing on the _outside_ of people.

"What's that got to do with me?" She wondered if this was just her companions trying to get her to fall victim to some prank.

"Well… I dunno, but you're _there_, with _him_. Ser, you should just see this for yourself."

~o~

Solona could not believe it. She had lived her whole life knowing – if not always wanting to – that she would spend all her time in the Circle, under the watchful eye of the Templars and mistrusted by all other mages. Now here she was, tailing a Grey Warden who had no right to be such fun to watch.

Admittedly, the events that had led up to her coming here had been… less than stellar. But now she was here, and she was _free_ – or at least as free as a mage could probably get without being branded tranquil.

After her Harrowing she had woken to find a very worried Jowan waiting for her outside the dormitory; the reason for his state being the belief that he would never be harrowed, that he was destined for Tranquility.

This claim had been backed by his finally exposed lover, a sweet thing called Lily. She had said that she'd overheard it from Templars while she had been performing her duties at the Circle chapel. Solona had not entirely believed the girl, but Jowan was the only friend she could recall ever having and so she had pledged to help.

The small group had managed to break into the Circle's vault, and after briefly gotten side-tracked, tried to find an entrance to the Phylactery Chamber. After Jowan's Phylactry had been destroyed they planned to have him escape with the help of Lily. But it was not to be; both the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter had been waiting for the trio just outside the vaults.

Everything fell apart then. Jowan had been accused of practicing blood-magic, the reason for his getting slated for Tranquility. It had shocked both Lily and Solona, when the young man had pulled a dagger from his robes and cut his palm. Using the power gained from the blood, he had rendered everyone in the room unconscious and fled.

Lily, horrified at the prospect that she had been accomplice to a blood-mage… that the man she _loved_ had been a blood mage, immediately turned herself in. Solona pitied her; she had read of the Templar prison – the place Lily was no doubt destined for after her part in this. Irving and Greagoir had argued about the fate of Solona. The First Enchanter was the closest thing the newly-minted mage had to a father and it seemed he had similar feelings.

The Knight-Commander on the other hand, had always been weary of Solona, ever since the events on their journey to the circle when he had first picked her up. When it seemed that despite having passed her Harrowing that Solona still might face the right of Tranquility, an unexpected party stepped in and wrenched her fate from both Templars and Mages.

Alastair, the Grey Warden who had been visiting the Circle to request additional mage support for the fight against the Darkspawn, had invoked the Rite of Conscription. This seemed to please Irving no-end, while having the opposite effect on the Knight-Commander. So it came to be that Solona packed her meagre belongings together and for the first time, took the boat that left the Circle.

The Grey Warden proved to be interesting company, the first thing he did as they set foot on the other side of the lake was jump from the ferry and whooping called out: "Freedom!"

His mage companion looked at him with a raised brow, "Serrah, I believe the role of formerly oppressed mage is mine."

Alastair looked around, as if seeing her for the first time, he blushed. "Er, well, by all means, if you feel inclined to yell at no-one and everyone in particular, go ahead."

Solona looked as if she were contemplating it and after a short pause replied, "Naah, I'll leave that to you, since you seem to have it so well in hand." She smiled sweetly at him, "That said, why would you feel oppressed there to begin with?"

"Oh, uh, I suppose it's best to spill all the dirty laundry before it becomes an issue." The Grey Warden was trying to talk to her by looking at her, but not actually looking at her, eventually he settled for just staring at the ground at his feet and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "The reason I was given this assignment, was because of my previous ties to the Chantry. Duncan hoped me knowing something of how things worked would help in the negotiation."

Solona's eyebrows evened out - now both were raised. There were few roles for men in the female-dominated Chantry which meant that the most likely…

"Yep, you guessed it! Half-baked Templar at your service. Well almost half-baked, well actually maybe a bit burnt? A burnt-dough Templar!"

Solona had started to worry, but the manner in which the Warden ended up trying to describe himself as a state of culinary process just caused her to burst out laughing.

"Heeey, don't laugh, you'll injure my self-esteem."

"I've never met another Templar like you," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Of course not! You have any idea how much effort it takes to get this hair to look like it does?"

"Hmm, I was not referring to the hair… actually when it comes to looks you remind me a great deal of Cullen. Who'd probably be the nicest Templar I knew in the entire Circle, were he to actually talk a bit more."

"Seems I'll need to work on something else then. Hmm. Well I'll try to think of something while we travel; long road ahead of us! A few days travel until we reach Ostagar."

~o~

_AN: Somehow I managed to drag all origins in, which was totally unplanned; they won't be focus characters, if they survive Ostagar at all… meh, let's see. I'm making it up as I go along. Thanks for all the Follows/Favourites and the Review. Feedback, no matter how small, does wonders for the morale and it actually gets me to write - as I'm not doing it for myself only ;).This was the first time I tried creating my own verse since like… the 6__th__ grade? I hope it has the effect intended._

_Gratitude to my lovely sister and beta, CrypticWraith / Frostyshimmer. If you like the Warrior series (or cats in general), maybe have a look at her work!_


	11. Turning Point II

**Turning Point II**

Lady Trevelyan sat in one of the cushioned arm-chairs that were arrayed around a small table near the fireplace in the chambers she shared with her husband. She was dressed in a simple, yet stylish everyday gown – one of the few nobles in the Free Marches that did not care for the latest trends in Orlais. But none of that mattered to her at this point.

The fair-haired lady sat there, her hands clutching a piece of parchment that had row upon row of fine- official-looking writing filling it. But her thoughts were no longer concerned about the letter itself. Instead, she was distraught at what the contents told her.

It read as follows: _Dear Lord and Lady Trevelyan,_

_It is with great sorrow that we must inform you that the Rite of Tranquility has had to be performed on your daughter, Lady Samantha Augustine Trevelyan, while under the care of the Ostwick Circle of Magi._

_On the return trip from her last visit to your residence, she was set upon by a maleficar, who killed four of our finest knights before he was stopped. Samantha's life was saved only thanks to the swift action of one of the Templar Lieutenants and the First Enchanter himself. Unfortunately the trauma caused by such a horrifying experience and influence of the maleficar poses too great a threat when considering that Samantha had great magical potential. Rather than allowing her to be a target for the demons of the Fade we deemed it necessary to sever her connection to it, thus rendering her Tranquil._

_The Rite was administered on the 6__th__ day of Drakon, 30 Dragon_

_With Regret,_

_Ser Travis, Knight-Commander of the Templar Forces of Ostwick_

It had been read and re-read, again and again, until the tear-stained letter was eventually dropped onto the carpet as Lady Trevelyan could no longer seem to bear the weight of the message, its truth finally hitting home. Curling up in the chair she sobbed quietly to herself, mourning the loss of her youngest child.

~o~

"_In the land where demons lie,_

_And the home of minds that die,_

_Oh she will now let it go,_

_Forfeit to the lyrium glow._

_This but be a finite state,_

_For soon she will once more elate._

_Modest temper, bold in deed_

_A world will look to her in need_

_When the legends of the sky_

_Fall to Thedas from on high._

_See the panes that do reflect,_

_For her a homeway will detect._

The soft words echoed around the chamber, far louder than they were being uttered. Chills travelled down hardened warrior's backs as the girl stood there, dressed only in a filthy tunic. She did not resist as others had always had. She had followed any directive that had been given to her by the Templars and that only frightened them more.

They were in the Harrowing Chamber of the Ostwick Circle. It was very much like the one of the Circle of Ferelden, with one difference: instead of being high atop a tower, it was deep below the ground. There were stories that it had once been part of the Deep Roads, before the Dwarven empires fell to the Darkspawn and all entrances and passageways to the chamber had been sealed.

Now there were a dozen Templars stationed around the walls, two more flanked the red-haired girl wherever she went; the last two people in the room were the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander.

Before, the girl was a basin of lyrium, much like the one used for the Harrowing. But instead of a mage using it themselves, a Templar would apply it, using a brand that had its end also made out of the magical substance.

Knight-Commander Travis took the brand by its handle, and removed it from the lyrium. He slowly walked up the Samantha, and as he approached one of the Templars escorting her went behind her and held her head so that she could not move it and that her hair would stay out of the way.

Travis used a gauntleted finger to brush aside the last stray strands, holding the brand aloft. Then he slowly brought it down and gently, yet firmly pressed it against the girl's forehead. It was an action that demanded there be the sizzle of burning flesh, but there was none. Instead the brand glowed briefly and faded – or that was what should have happened. Instead of fading the brand grew brighter and brighter, it started emitting a whistling noise, akin to the moving of a wet finger across the rim of a wineglass only much louder.

The Knight-Commander tried to pull his arm away, the brand, but they would not move. The Templars stationed around the chamber tried to block out the growing noise – pulling off their helmets and pressing their fingers into their ears. But even that was not effective as the sound grew and grew. Soon they were writhing on the ground, the sound seemingly transmitting itself into other senses as the one of hearing was overwhelmed.

Eventually, the first enchanter pushed himself at Travis from where he was on the floor. He knocked hard against the paralysed commander and both fell. The brand was dropped, clattering to the ground with a steely noise. As soon as Travis had been knocked aside the sound had stopped.

Samantha still stood there, in the centre of the room, opposed to the listless look of before though, now her eyes were wide open, as if surprised, her mouth ajar. Upon her forehead there was the sigil of the Chantry, a wavy sun. But unlike other tranquil, who had only received a scar-like mark, this one was glowing bright blue, the same colour as the magical mineral that had been used on her. Her normally emerald eyes too, were flickering with lyrium-coloured flames as irises.

The two leaders slowly got up from where they had crashed to the ground together. Other Templars in the room were also staggering to their feet, groaning. Then the glow faded from Samantha's eyes and brow and as if the lyrium had been a string suspending her, the small form collapsed to the ground.

~o~

Elisa dumped her pack at the foot of one of the seemingly unclaimed cots in the Grey Warden pavilion. They had seen the Cousland pavilion during their trip through the camp, but the wound was still too fresh for them to willingly go near it. Fergus had already arrived a few days earlier and was currently out patrolling the Wilds. Until he returned neither of the twins saw the need to force the issue.

The young noble collapsed on the simple bed, groaning as all her limbs finally relaxed. It was almost an intoxicating sensation after days of trudging through the countryside. Erik also swung the pack off his back, but instead of dropping it onto the floor he placed it on the cot next to Elisa's. There he undid the straps and pulled out the pieces of armour he had stripped to make the traveling easier. He then proceeded to undo the buckles of the pieces he was already wearing and arranged them all on his own cot so he could inspect them.

After ensuring that all parts were accounted for, he retrieved a sealed container along with a rag and set to cleaning and polishing his gear. Sections that needed to have repairs done on them he put to the side after having processes them, so he could take them to a smith later. Finally he too slumped down on his cot, cradling his head in his hands. Duncan had said that they should take the day to recover from the journey. They had already met with the king and reported the loss of their home to the treachery of Arl Howe. Surprisingly, the regent had come to meet them personally while they were still nearing the camp. The successor to Maric Theirin seemed to be a very carefree and enthusiastic person, if one were to consider his role as sovereign.

Elisa had nodded off while Erik cleaned his armour and he had settled for simply emptying his mind after he had completed that. So that was the state they were found in when two people whooshed into the tent. The one was a dwarf who wore his dark hair braided into dreadlocks and tied behind his head; surprisingly he did not have a much of a beard to speak of, instead having only a thick stubble. The other person was an elf; she had a very lean build and wore her – also dark - hair tied back as well, though not braided. Both of them wore royal blue and white tabards with a chest piece that had two gryphons facing towards a chalice enamelled onto it – the insignia of the Grey Wardens. Neither of them wore any additional armour aside a mail hauberk underneath the tabard.

Erik managed to lift his head and look at the two as they entered. They, seemingly having had purpose upon entering, also stopped. Eventually the dwarf stepped forward stretching out his hand, "Faren Brosca, formerly of Orzammar." He then pointed over his shoulder with his other hand, "and this meek thing is Kallian Tabris."

The elf punched the dwarf in the shoulder as Erik struggled to his feet to meet the greeting. After exchanging a solid handshake though he fell back onto the cot. "'m Erik Cousland and that lump on the other cot is my sister Elisa."

As if picking up on her name being mentioned Elisa mumbled in her sleep, "No you." This only brought a smile to Erik's weary face.

"So you must be the sods that Duncan dragged in, eh?" Faren asked, clearly interested in the soon-to-be new additions.

"You could say that."

"Mate, every recruit here was dragged in after having gone through some form of hell. You're probably just the same an'll fit right in." He looked at the elf over his shoulder and back to Erik, "Well I s'pose it was a pleasure to meet you n'all but we're sorta on an assignment so we'd better get to it." Erik only nodded and the dwarf and elf moved past him, deeper into the tent.

After a short while they came back out bearing identical satchels that were dyed a dark grey and moved out of the before exiting the tent though, Faren stopped, still holding open the door-flap. "Oh and if you run into a painted elf called Theron, don't mind what he says much. Half of it is insults, the rest is just stupid." He dropped the flap and the tent grew dim once more.

~o~

"Ser, you should just see this for yourself."

Alastair and Solona had noticed the sudden commotion at the barricade when their approach was noticed. "Ooh, I wonder if they finally implemented that welcome-cheese-tasting station I suggested."

Solona looked at him, thin brow raised. "Cheese-tasting?"

"Yes, don't you think it's a wonderful idea?!"

"Hmm, not sure; didn't get much exposure to cheese at the Circle. It was more of a jam place."

Solona smiled at the horrified look on the Grey Warden's face. "No… cheese? You my lady, are one deprived woman!"

They were now only a short distance from the barricade and despite the soldiers obviously having recognised him they still hadn't opened the way. Instead, they were just gawking at them, well, at Solona in particular.

Slightly annoyed at the lack of attention he was getting Alastair waved his hands in front of him. "Now, now boys. You should know by now that staring at a lady is rude."

That was when it was Alastair's jaw's turn to drop, because as soon as he finished the sentence the low-hanging boughs of one of the nearby trees were pushed aside and Solona emerged. Or he could have sworn that it was Solona, had she not actually been standing next to him.

Solona's eyes grew wide as she saw the other woman; it was almost like looking into a mirror. Then small differences became more obvious; the other woman's face was less round and had a sharper look to it, her eyes were a more sapphire blue and her lips more pursed. She also wore her hair different: short, it having a scruffy-yet-spunky look, sticking up at odd yet seemingly natural angles - where Solona wore her hair in a very simple collar length style, the only truly characteristic feature being a braid on her left, which she sometimes fidgeted with when nervous. The most striking difference though, had to be the blood-red mark that ran across the other woman's nose. It looked as if someone had dabbed a small brush in blood or war-paint and pulled it across her face.

Alastair elbowed Solona in the ribs gently, as if trying to get her attention. "Why didn't you tell me there were two of _you,_" he muttered in an aside.

"Because there are not," the other woman responded, her voice had an arrogant edge to it, as if she knew that whatever she said was the best thing that could be said when it was said.

"Well then what is _this_?!" Alastair said, gesturing at the woman and Solona with both arms.

"This," the woman started, walking up to Solona, "is my cousin."

She was now inspecting the former Circle mage, taking in the robes, the pack, the features. "Mother told me about you. Her cousin Revka… all children mages, all taken by the Templars." The woman's tone seemed sad as she said this, as if she were discussing someone dying.

"I… I'm sorry… I don't know any of my family. I sometimes have difficulty remembering even my parents," Solona stumbled through the apology, not knowing what to say, what to think, in the face of this other woman; a sudden link to the world outside the circle materialising before her.

The other woman smiled sadly, bringing a hand to cup the cheek of her cousin. "There is no need to apologise; the fault is that of the Chantry, not you."

There was a short pause where Solona just seemed lost, her mind struggling to come with terms to things. "Well, I suppose I should introduce myself," the other woman said, grinning now, "Sorana Hawke, Sergeant of the Ferelden Auxiliary."

Finally a spark seemed to wake in Solona. "Solona Amell, former mage of the Circle of Magi, soon-to-be Grey Warden."

"Amell, eh?" Sorana said, her grin only seeming to grow. "Guess they didn't think your da's name was pretty enough for you. Or perhaps your parents never actually tied the knot; scandalous!"

But then Sorana looked at Alastair, and then back to her cousin. "And Grey Warden? My, my, that could be either prestigious or… not. But we have enough darkspawn around that need killing so I guess another fireball or two wouldn't hurt. Did you know we only have seven mages here? _Seven?!_ The Chantry is mad if they think we can defeat a horde with all its emissaries when we have so few to counter them."

"That was why I initially travelled to the Circle," Alastair said, butting in, "Solona seemed to have gotten herself into a bit of a spot and the First Enchanter mentioned she was a special case so I decided to invoke the Rite. Cost me brownie points though, no extra mages."

"Solona, Sorana… hmm names that similar could become a bit of a problem in the heat of combat," Hawke mused. "Say what,"

"What."

"- let's go by Sol and Rana. That way, no confusion! Or just call me Hawke, everyone else does." Sorana bonked Alastair on the head without losing a beat when he interjected.

"Oww! I'll have you know that the king happens to like Grey Wardens a lot!" He said, rubbing his head.

"I know," Hawke said, sidling up to the Warden who tensed up; bringing her lips to his ear she whispered the end of the sentence, "_your majesty._"

She stepped back and wrapped an arm around Solona's shoulders, observing how pale Alastair had gotten. "Don't worry, your secret is safe. Just look after my little cousin and we're all good."

"Little?" Solona asked sharply, not having paid attention while Alastair and Sorana had continued.

"Well, yes. I would guess you're about the same age as my sister, or maybe brother - which means I get to tell you what to do!"

Hawke laughed at the expression on Solona's face, who was trying to look unhappy with the idea, but was too amused by it at the same time. "Don't worry, the Grey Wardens have their own little hierarchy and don't actually do much together with us army unless it's one of the large-scale battles."

"How long have you been here?" Solona asked, impressed by how much Sorana knew of the situation.

"Joined up when the auxiliaries were moving through Lothering a month or so ago. Been here ever since; I was a sword-for-hire before that, only way I knew to feed the family. So I'm familiar with sifting through the scuttlebutt."

Sorana then stepped away from Solona and addressed the two, "Well I shouldn't be keeping you on your feet all this time. It looks like you've come quite the distance. Best you rest up before anything exciting happens." Hawke turned to go back to her seat but before entering the boughs swung around one last time, calling: "Oh and the Warden-Commander returned earlier today with some nobs in tow. You might want to go see him, cheese-boy." With that she was gone.

The two soldiers that they had first seen manning the barricade seemed to snap out of a trance and jumped to open the way. Alastair, while a bit indignant about what the woman had called him was eager to see Duncan again. So the two set off into the camp at a brisk pace, as if meeting Solona's relative had recharged their reserves.

The former mage was suffused with a joy she had never felt before. There was someone out here who actually cared for her, someone that had remembered her and put significance on her - someone that wanted to be associated to _her_. Suddenly all the years of loneliness and isolation at the Circle seemed to have been worth it, that the Harrowing and Expelling had been worth it. That walking all that damn road had been worth it!

The former Templar on the other hand was happy for his companion. He had grown to like the girl during their trip from the Tower and he himself knew the isolation of not having anyone who cared about you very well. Then Duncan had appeared and accepted him. He was so eager to go to his superior and only father-figure that he ever had that he almost completely forgot that somehow, the strange woman had known who he was.

~o~

Sorana was sitting in her habitual place again, legs stretched and folded before her and hands steepled and pressed against her lips as she contemplated the earlier events. The girl had been sweet. A pity that she'd had to spend all her life in the Circle. But when Hawke had wrapped her arm around her she had sensed a fire - a fire that would need attention at some point. But she knew that the Warden with her had once been training to become a Templar. The Chantry tried to exploit him for it at every opportunity, and she had seen how he looked at her. A Templar who loved his charge, that was exactly what Solona would need in days to come - just as Sorana had had her father. That Alastair was of royal blood had surprised Sorana somewhat. She had heard some rumours that he might have been the bastard of Arl Eamon, and picked up on the likeness between him and Cailin, but it had been his reaction that had proved it in the end. No doubt Solona Amell's life would become very, very interesting.

~o~

_AN: Ohoho! I had fun in this chapter. Right from the start things went like "Aw yiisssss!" I hope some of you derive at least a tiny bit of satisfaction from it. :P or maybe that's just me because of *spoilers* let's see how many can guess what I have planned._


End file.
